


Oriana Pendragon

by rainbow_writer



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: ADHD Character, Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arthur Knows About Merlin's Magic (Merlin), Arthur Knows About Morgana's Magic (Merlin), Background Relationships, Bisexual Character, Bisexual Female Character, Both Merlin and Arthur live, Canon Era, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Demisexual Character, Demisexuality, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Romance, F/F, F/M, Family, Family Bonding, Family Drama, Family Dynamics, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Family Reunions, Family Secrets, Found Family, Getting Back Together, Good Mordred (Merlin), Good Morgana (Merlin), Happy Ending, I swear, Implied Mpreg, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Loss of Parent(s), Loss of Parents is for other deaths, M/M, Major Character Injury, Major Original Character(s), Minor Gwen/Morgana (Merlin), Minor Original Character(s), Mithian and Elena are Queens and they're awesome, Morgana Knows about Merlin's Magic (Merlin), Nonbinary Character, Not Canon Compliant, Original Character(s), Original Character-centric, POV Female Character, POV Original Character, POV Original Female Character, Parent Death, Parent Merlin (Merlin), Parenthood, Past Character Death, Past Lancelot/Merlin - Freeform, Past Merlin/Lancelot - Freeform, Past Relationship(s), Poisoning, Pre-Relationship, Scruffy Arthur Pendragon, Secret Relationship, They deserved more screen time, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, Trans Merlin (Merlin), Women Being Awesome, Women In Power, intentional poisoning, they/them pronouns
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-18
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:02:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 47,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26530327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainbow_writer/pseuds/rainbow_writer
Summary: Drawn to Camelot by the promise of a tournament of magic and metal, Oriana also seeks to know the man who is the reason her father refuses to speak of the citadel, despite having lived there for years before she was born.
Relationships: Gwen/Morgana (Merlin), Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 31
Kudos: 135





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so I recently watched Disclosure on Netflix, and as a Trans person, it moved something in me. I've written copious amounts of Merlin fanfic, but have yet to add a character who I relate to in any of them. Visibility is a double edged sword, as the documentary states, but the older I've gotten, the more I've found that I wish I had done this sooner. If not for me, then someone else who needs that sort of casual representation in their fics, too. In searching the tags, I realized how few fics there are in this particular subsection of the Merlin fandom, that have Trans characters, which made me even more sure I should write our stories into fics, as well. 
> 
> So, don't like it, don't read. TERFS, transphobes, etc. need not apply. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I own none of these characters, and I am not profiting off of this or any of my fan works.

Puffs of dust escaped a disused cupboard that held an old suit of armor. The rust that spread across it said that it had witnessed better days. Nothing a bit of magic couldn’t fix, though.

“Oriana,” a voice called.

“Yes, father?” 

Quickly, the aforementioned young woman shut the cupboard, and moved to another side of the room, where there were books stacked beside a bed. Her being near books was less likely to bring forth suspicion, she wagered. 

A man with dark blue eyes, shoulder length black hair, and pale skin appeared, his eyes searching his bedroom, until he spotted the young woman whom he had been searching for.

“What are you doing?”

“I was looking for a botany text I saw you use before.”

He arched an eyebrow at her. 

“Really. Which one?”

Oriana pointed to a tome a few layers down, and made to grab it.

Once in her hands, she held it up, and placed a sweet, demure smile upon her face, hoping that he would buy it.

“You know you’re welcome to any of my books, but please, ask before you enter my sleeping quarters.”

“Yes, father. It won’t happen again.”

The man sighed, then said, “See that it doesn’t.”

Knowing that she was out of luck for now, Oriana walked out, hoping to placate the man into not asking any further questions. Much to her chagrin, it seemed that she would just have to try to sneak back for the armor later. For the time being, she would simply have to pursue something else, until her father let his guard down again.

With that in mind, after dropping the book in her own room, Oriana walked out of their home, and went to knock on her best friend’s door, which was not far from her’s. 

A few moments after Oriana had rapped her knuckles on the door, Brigit answered, holding her newborn in her arms, looking as if she had not slept more than a few winks in a fortnight. The normally well kept woman had bags under her eyes, and her hair straw colored hair was visibly stringy, and greasy.

At the sight of Oriana though, she brightened up marginally. Brigit held a finger to her lips though, and pointed down at the swaddled bundle in her arms. After Oriana indicated she understood, Brigit moved aside, so as to allow her friend into her home.

“Did you get it?” Brigit whispered.

Oriana shook her head ruefully.

“No, father walked in, before I could.”

“The tournament is in a few days. If you don’t leave soon, you’ll never make it.”

Oriana bit her lip, and nodded.

“I know, but you know as well as I that he cannot know where I intend to go, with Lancelot’s armor in tow.”

Brigit shifted her sleeping babe from one shoulder to another, then eyed Oriana. 

“Are you sure this is what you want? Are you not content with your life here in Ealdor?”

“I am, but a part of me just needs to go to Camelot, just once.”

Oriana watched as Brigit gave her a searching look, before she said, “I know we’ve spoken of this previously, and you will not want to hear this, but you don’t even know him, Ori. Merlin, Lancelot and Hunith raised you, not him. Is it really worth upsetting your father, just to meet a man who is only your kin by blood?”

A part of Oriana knew that Brigit was right. Regardless of parentage, the man she sought in Camelot was not her family; Lancelot, who had died protecting her, her father Merlin, as well as her grandmother, had raised her. They had been her family from the moment she was born, as they had chosen to be there for her. No one else had the right to claim such involvement in her life as they could. It was something she had deliberated with Brigit since she had thought of her plan, in the first place.

Oriana sighed. 

“Perhaps it is a fool’s errand, but I cannot shake the feeling I need to do this.”

Bright grimaced.

“I hope you find whatever it is you’re seeking, but please, be careful.”

“Of course. I haven’t met a single person yet who cannot be felled by my magic or sword.”

Brigit rolled her eyes, but Oriana could still see fear on her face, too.

The baby began to cry moments later though, and Oriana took that as her cue to leave. After a quick embrace, she was out the door, and walking towards her grandmother’s house.

As was customary, Oriana never knocked, but entered and left as she wished. 

Her grandmother Hunith was kneading dough, when she walked in.

The good-natured woman looked up from her task and smiled. 

The years had been kind to her grandmother, who still looked as if she were much younger than what Oriana knew her true age to be.

“Hello, dear. What brings you by?”

“I wished to see you, of course.”

“Those eyes hold mischief, though. Care to explain, while you help me with this?”

Oriana had already begun to roll up her sleeves, before Hunith had asked. 

“For you gran? Always.”

Given that Oriana’s father was a powerful sorcerer, there were many times as a child that she had spent days at Hunith’s side. Together, their bond had become strong as Hunith taught Oriana how to bake, amongst other things, as they waited for Merlin to return.

For a time, the two worked in practiced movements that had become rote with time. That was, until the weight of the secret Oriana held was too great for her to stand withholding it a second longer, and so she stepped away from their task, to look at Hunith.

“I plan to go to Camelot.”

Oriana winced when Hunith dropped the bowl that she had previously held in her hands. 

She watched as her grandmother turned to her, and asked, “Does your father know about this?”

“No, and I do not plan to tell him.”

Hunith sighed as she cleaned up the mess she had made. Oriana helped as best she could, from where she was at her side. 

Her grandmother’s opinion was one she held dear, and if Hunith tried to dissuade her, then perhaps, Oriana might listen. Though she felt a sense of urgency in her, to ride off for the citadel unknown to her, if Hunith only asked, she would stay.

“Your father set out for Camelot at your age, you know.”

It was a tid bit, rather than an outright condemnation.

“Why?”

“People here were unused to magic, and he made a public display of it far too often for them to be comfortable with his presence. So, I asked him to go stay with my brother, Camelot’s court physician.”

Hunith paused, choosing to knead the dough for a moment again. 

Oriana had no desire to cut her off, as this was something she had never heard before. The way she understood it, her father had been more of a knight, or something of the sort, as he knew that band of men well, according to Lancelot.

When she did speak again, Hunith stopped kneading, and stared off for a moment at the wall opposite of her, as if she were looking into a window of the past.

“I knew Gaius had dabbled in magic before the Great Purge, and so I thought that perhaps in the citadel, Merlin could blend in, and keep out of trouble.”

Oriana smiled.

“That didn’t happen though, did it?”

Hunith seemed to remember she had been speaking to someone else, so she then turned to Oriana, with a sad smile on her face. 

“No, he never managed that.”

There was silence, for a long time, and then Oriana spoke up again.

“Lancelot used to tell me stories of what he and father got up to there.”

Up until now, Oriana had held onto those small scraps, as they were all she had that resembled painting a picture of what her father’s life was like, before she was born. Stood beside Hunith, she wished for something more concrete. She wondered though, if her grandmother would grant her that, as her father had not.

“Why does that not surprise me?”

There was much Oriana knew that Hunith could tell her, but a burning question, one which she desperately needed to know the answer to, was the one which escaped her lips next.

“Is Arthur Pendragon really my father, too?”

Oriana hadn’t meant to speak her doubt outloud, but if anyone would know, it would be her grandmother. 

Hunith didn’t answer for a long time. It was almost as if she hadn’t heard Oriana, or she was ignoring her altogether.

Then, she turned to her granddaughter, and said, “Yes, he is.”

The confirmation felt bittersweet. 

Now, Oriana had even more questions than answers. She remained quiet for a moment, before settling on what she wished to know next.

“Did you ever meet him, gran?”

Hunith reached up, and wiped some flour off of her face, then replied, “A few times, before your father left Camelot.”

“What did you think of him?”

Oriana hoped she hadn’t pressed Hunith too far. So, she waited patiently again, until her grandmother spoke her mind.

It took some time, but in this, Oriana would be patient, as she had no one else to turn to. Lancelot had been gone for some time, and before that, no one had dared speak of Arthur Pendragon anywhere near Oriana.

“He was a brash, but kind man, with a heavy burden to carry.”

Silence elapsed between Oriana and Hunith again, before the former asked, “Will you tell my father, if I do leave for Camelot?”

The response to this was swift.

“I will not lie to him, no.”

There seemed to be something more simmering underneath those words, as if she was holding back. 

Oriana’s suspicions were confirmed when Hunith said softly, “If you leave at night though, it will give you a head start.”

Oriana smiled conspiratorially for a moment, before she moved on to her next doubt that she wished to voice aloud.

“Do you think I should go meet him?”

Though she had loved Lancelot as a father figure, he had made it clear he was not seeking to be a replacement for the man who should have been there for her. She still loved him like she loved Merlin, and no amount of him trying to dissuade her had changed that. She knew that he had felt unworthy, and so she had made sure that he knew exactly how she thought of him. He was the one who had been there for her, after all. Still, a small piece of her longed to know who Lancelot thought to be more worthy of her love than him.

“I believe that is up to you, dear. He is, after all, your father, too.”

“Do you think that Merlin had it wrong, when he kept this from me? He’s never steered me wrong before, and yet, Arthur Pendragon lives, and I do not know him.”

Hunith sighed.

“Sometimes, when people are hurt, they cannot see past the pain, and make rash decisions instead.”

Oriana couldn’t help it; a laugh precluded her next thought she dared speak out loud, “I’m twenty summers old, grandmother. We are long past rash.”

Hunith smiled again, but still, it did not quite reach her eyes.

“There are times, dear, when once we’ve tread so far down one path, it is hard to see our way to another.”

Oriana chewed on her lip, then asked what her heart begged her to, again. 

“Why did he leave Camelot?”

Hunith looked to Oriana, and a pained expression set itself on her face.

However, the sound of a door opening revealed none other than her father entering his mother’s home. 

The time for questions was over, much to Oriana's chagrin. 

“Hello mother. Fancy having us both for supper?”

While Hunith and her father spoke, Oriana chose not to press further, instead electing to lapse into silence. She had much to consider, and very little time to do it in.

  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

The breaths between dawn and the whispers of twilight were when Oriana chose to rise from her bed, and sneak out of the home she and her father shared. Laden down with all she would need, the young woman crept through the humble home, hoping that her father’s penchant for late night reading would sustain his exhaustion enough that if she happened to make a misstep as she left, it would go unnoticed. 

Luck seemed to be on her side, as not a single sound, outside of her own feet touching the floor and Merlin’s snoring, could be heard.

Once the door was shut behind her, she sagged a second, under the weight of armor she carried, as well as her travelling provisions. She spoke a quick spell to lighten the load, then walked over to the corral, where all of Ealdor’s mounts were kept together; the few that were there, at least. Her own horse, Fendrell, was amongst them.

Merlin had never had trouble travelling, when he needed. Fen had been brought to Ealdor for her, from who knew where. His appearance had caused some grumblings from other townsfolk, which Hunith quickly tamped down in a way that only her grandmother could. Oriana had not questioned it, but thanked her father profusely, once she realized he intended the dappled grey horse to be for her, despite the undercurrent of discontent it brought about from other inhabitants.

Oriana made a soft whickering noise that she knew would draw Fen to her. If she procured an apple to sweeten the deal, well, that was between her and him. 

In the quiet of the night, he trotted over, and ate a proffered apple slice out of her palm. 

She stroked his lean neck, and cooed at him, waiting for him to finish his treat. 

The other horses behind him were older, and less attentive. Most stood together, with their ears flicking around, but they were closer to lame than not, so Fen was easily the most agile of them all. She had nothing to fear, as far as being rushed or trampled, as they were. It was how the crude corral worked well for the small town of Ealdor.

Once Fen finished off the last of the apple, she moved aside so that he could walk out of the wooden fence, and be tacked up. 

That part was easier, now that he had been pacified with a treat. Fen was a younger horse, but he was steady. She had no sooner closed the gate, than placed the riding gear, her provisions, and the armor onto him. It was a smooth transition, and soon, she was astride her mount, looking back over Ealdor. 

The empty streets, which she had tread beneath the gaze of judgmental eyes many times before, were so quiet, and lonely at night, that they were almost like lifelong friends, rather than paths she had dreaded each time she took to them. The houses were humble, and while normally brimmed with life in daylight, were mute at night, as the inhabitants slept. She could not say she would miss the people, but there was a quaint feeling about the town, which one day she might seek after being in a city, full of bustling people. Only time would tell. 

The howl of a wolf off in the distance spooked her, in the somber silence. 

She felt Fen lurch a second beneath her, before he relaxed under her soothing touch, when she reached out and stroked him. 

“It’s okay, boy. Just a wolf, nothing to worry about.”

After he was no longer fidgety, she pressed into his sides, urging him to be off. 

She hoped, as she rode off in the stillness of the night, that whatever came of her leaving, that it would be good.

* * *

Oriana rode for hours, before she slowed Fen to a stop, for a drink of water. The sun's rays were just peeking over the horizon when they halted by a river. While he drank, she gazed out at the area around her, which was just beginning to be touched by the early morning light in earnest. It was a beautiful sight, and one she longed to see each morning. Unlike her father, she had been a morning person, for as long as she could remember. 

The thought reminded her of a tale her grandmother Hunith used to spin for her, when she had difficulty falling asleep; it was about the sun and the moon, two opposites, who orbited each other, but if one were to look hard enough, they would realize that the two were more reliant on one another than they’d ever admit. Two sides of a coin, was something that had been a part of the story too, if she remembered it right. Oriana, much to her father’s dismay, had loved that story. She never understood why he didn’t care for it, but still loved it, all the same.

The thought of Merlin panged Oriana a little. She would miss him, but it was time for her to make her own way in the world. She just hoped that somehow, the hastily scrawled letter she had left him, would make him understand, even if it was scant on details. 

Before she looked away from the view ahead of her, she heard a strange sound, and looked up to see a white dragon flying over. Given that magic was legal all over, the sight of magical creatures was not uncommon. A dragon, though, was one that she had only ever witnessed in books. The being looked majestic to her as it went; she hoped that the sight of it was a good omen for her journey. 

Once it was out of sight, Oriana turned to Fen, who was munching on some grass.

Her stomach growled, so she reached into her pack and grabbed out a piece of bread, which was very near stale, as she and Hunith had made it days before. After tucking that away, along with a few sips of water for herself, she led her horse away from the temptations of water and grass, and urged him to continue on.

The morning was still beautiful, even as the wind whipped through her hair, and slapped her in the face at times. Thankfully, Fen was a steady horse, and did not jerk or unsettle easily, even if her grip on the reins was less than commanding. The distance that they covered, with stops throughout the day, was great. It was not the entirety of their journey, but a good portion, at least. 

By the time that they stopped for the evening, Oriana was content with where they were, even though she knew that there was every chance they had gone in the wrong direction, seeing as she had little to show for a map, or anything of the sort, with her. With a little more than instinct, and a general knowledge of the land that surrounded Ealdor, she figured she could make it to Camelot. She did have magic, after all, if she were to get lost. Something told her though, that she was headed in the right direction.

Once Fen was settled, she set about creating a makeshift camp for the few hours she needed to rest. Though she was more than willing to continue, she figured she should find it within herself to sleep for at least a while, if not for herself, then for Fen. Little sleep meant poor decisions, and in a new place, those were not mistakes that she could afford. So, she started a fire with, “ _Forbaernan_.” Then, she pulled out some of the other food she had packed for herself, earlier in the morning. 

As she sat and ate, the sounds of chirping insects and Fen munching filtered over to her, Oriana wondered not for the umpteenth time whether this plan was too foolhardy, even for her. She knew that there were a million ways that it could go wrong, despite her desire for it to not to. It’s not as if this was her first headstrong moment, where she thrust herself into the unknown. She had weighed the risks though, more than she ever had for any one decision, and could not find a reason within herself to back down.

Doubt was easy to find when there was no one else to allay it though. 

That was something in Ealdor she had always been blessed with, if not in Merlin, who was infrequently there, but Hunith and Brigit, who had been her constant confidants. They were by far the calm to her recklessness, but they still loved her just the way she was, even if her unpredictable nature worried them at times. When she got scraped up, they were there to soothe her, or in Brigit’s case tell her I told you so, and patch her up anyways. Now, she would be the only one she’d have to answer to, or account for, outside of her horse. 

It was a scary thing to think about; losing the safety net of childhood. 

She groaned, and rolled over onto her bedroll. Oriana knew she could spin her misgivings for days, but light would come soon, and that wouldn’t help her get any sleep. So, she tamped it all down, and allowed sleep to overtake her.

When she sat up, first light was well past, which meant she had overslept

Upon realizing this, she hopped up and found Fen still standing nearby, munching on some grass. 

“Alright boy, don’t get too comfortable. Once I wash up, we’re leaving again.”

Fen continued munching on his food, as if she hadn’t spoken. Not that she had expected a reply, but it felt odd not to have spoken out loud in so long, which is why she had turned to speaking aloud to her horse.

After checking the perimeter, she bathed, and threw on the underclothes she would need to have on when she donned the armor. 

Feeling refreshed, she walked back to Fen to find two men standing there, eyeing her and her stuff. They were around her father’s age, she wagered, but bulkier. Their clothing suggested they too were from somewhere like Ealdor. Whether they were just passing through, or also on their way elsewhere, she couldn’t tell. 

“Are you two lost?” 

Oriana’s shoulders tightened, and her fingers itched to grasp onto the hilt of her sword. That would seem aggressive though, and until she knew if that was what the situation required, she did not want to do anything that might be perceived one way or the other. 

“We were just wondering who could leave such a pretty horse, and all of their things unattended.”

Oriana grimaced.

“Well, they’re mine, and they’re not unattended. So, you can be on your way, if that’s all.”

The men didn’t look appeased though. The two looked between each other and then back at her, their eyes still leering, as if searching for a weakness to exploit from her.

Oriana subconsciously reached for her magic then. She had a distinct feeling she might need it soon.

“That armor looks to be a bit too big for someone as slight as you. Perhaps we should take it, so it can be used by someone it might fit properly.”

The other man, who hadn’t been speaking nodded, then began to reach out for the hauberk.

“I think not. You can be on your way now.”

The man with the brown beard reeled back from the armor, while the other started to come towards her.

“Is that a threat?”

Oriana flexed her fingers. She hadn’t planned on a warm up this early, but she was over their buffoonery.

“It is if you want it to be.”

The two advanced toward her.

“Why you little -”

Oriana lifted her hands, picked up the two men, and slammed them into each other, with a few simple motions, as Merlin had taught her. She couldn’t do everything silently, but she had been learning. 

Then, she walked forward, grabbed her sword, and slammed the pommel into each of their heads, where they lay on the ground. 

“That should do it,” she said. 

They were knocked out cold, she discovered after pressing her boot into each of their faces. 

“Serves them right,” she said to Fen, as she sheathed her sword.

As quick as she had made camp, she broke it down and put it away.

For added protection, she shrunk the armor and stored it in her pack. She should have done that in the first place, but the idea of doing so was one that eluded her thoughts when she was escaping in the dead of night.

She would don the armor closer to Camelot, or once she arrived in the city. 

The last thing she wanted to do was remain anywhere near those two men.

So, after a few minutes, Oriana and Fen were off once again, and she had no intention of stopping until they reached Camelot. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi. So it's been a few weeks. I got really sick, was hospitalized, and now here I am, writing again. This chapter was somewhat written when all of that happened, but I largely overhauled and rewrote it, again. It's not the most exciting chapter, but it felt weird leaving it out, tbh. I have over 40 pages of notes and later scenes already written for this fic. It's just getting there which might take a bit of time. But, I hope that regardless, if you read this, you enjoy what there is. This story really has my heart, and I can't wait to get posting even further into it. 
> 
> Thank you for your time! I hope you have a lovely day!


	3. Chapter 3

The sun had already begun its descent behind the horizon when Oriana caught her first glimpse of Camelot, proper. The uneven terrain had given way to a view where the castle and all that surrounded it was visible through the trees. She slowed Fen to a stop for a moment, to take it all in. 

Now that they were so close, she was indeed far from the only one with that destination in mind, it seemed. Unlike the other two men she had come across though, her fellow travelers seemed less interested in her, and more intent on their arrival as well. So, she passed others as they drew closer, who were just as keen on reaching Camelot as she was. She and Fen blended right in.

Looking out over the citadel though held Oriana’s attention for only so long; she was ready to be down there, in the thick of it. If she sat there staring any longer, she might draw attention to herself, too. So, she urged Fen for just a bit more, hoping that there would be hay and a spare stall for him somewhere. 

Now that they were no longer on open land, Oriana kept Fen’s gait slower, in case she needed to halt him for any reason. The closer they moved, she noticed that it was not just the castle, or whatever lay outside of it that they needed to wind their way through. In front of the gates, for large stretches around all sides of the castle, there was a massive swath of people who had set up camp and shops. 

Oriana and Fen slowed to a walk many lengths from the stone walls that enclosed the castle, because the large market camp spanned so much, and it was impossible not to accidentally hurt someone riding through there at any pace other than that. Other riders ahead of them had done the same, too. As Oriana waited for it to be safer to move forward, from her vantage point atop her mount, she looked out at what was all around them. 

Scents she had never come across, wafted through the air from makeshift stalls and tents where hot food was being served. Music of all sorts played in the air, from instruments that Oriana couldn’t have conceived of if she had not witnessed them with her own eyes. Children’s laughter permeated the air, as the sun continued to set, and witch lights or lanterns were brought out. All around her, there was so much happiness and light. 

Oriana’s mouth watered, and she wondered what sort of payment she might need to acquire some of the delicious foods she smelled. It had been hours since they’d eaten, after the fiasco earlier in the morning. The line they stood in began moving again though, and soon thoughts of food were abandoned for the time being. 

By the time the horse and rider reached the actual gates, the light from the sun was all but gone. 

Torches illuminated a table though, where a harried looking commoner sat, alongside a knight. Guards flanked either side of the main gated entrance, behind the set up. 

“Are you here for the tournament?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Will you be requiring room and board?”

Oriana hadn’t thought that far, if she were being honest. 

“Yes, but I haven’t -”

“The rulers of Camelot dictate that all who wish to participate receive free room and board for themselves, and their horses, should they bring one.”

“Okay. Well, that is very kind of them,” Oriana managed. 

To her knowledge, King Arthur was the only ruler of Camelot. Had he finally married? News such as that was not pertinent to Ealdor, as they were a border town of Escetir, so it was possible to have happened without their knowledge. It was a problem for later, though, she determined. 

“If you would like to dismount, we have stable hands available to bring your horse to a free stall for the duration of your stay. Once you have your belongings, you are free to roam.”

“Okay. He likes apples a lot and -”

The man grimaced.

“My lady, I assure you, your horse will be taken care of. This is Camelot, after all.”

The knight beside him looked unbothered, but a feeling of embarrassment still enveloped Oriana. 

“Right, okay.”

She hopped down, and grabbed her pack in her hands, which held everything she had brought or acquired along the way, thus far. 

A young boy no more than her age materialized at the wave of the commoner’s hand, and soon, Fen was being spirited away from her. A small ache appeared, but she let it go. There were more pressing matters, now. 

“There are rooms in the citadel for competitors only. When you are ready, go to the castle doors and show them this,” the man said, and handed her a scroll. 

He held onto it for a moment, as she grasped onto it, and bore his brown eyes into her’s.

“Do not lose that scroll, if you wish to be allowed room and board tonight.”

Oriana nodded.

“Okay, thank you.”

She began walking away, only to hear, almost as an afterthought thrown in her direction, “Welcome to Camelot.”

Oriana turned back to thank the man, but there was already someone else speaking with him. So, she turned around, and faced the open city gates. Before she moved, she placed the scroll which he had been so adamant about in her travelling pack, so she would not dare lose it. Then, she faced the unknown before her.

Unlike behind her, the ground below her was now stone, and it was more even than the area outside of the walls had been. Just like out there though, there were stalls and people with children milling about. Taverns and homes all had light spilling out of them, onto the streets. It was chaos, but the best kind. 

As she had earlier in the morning, Oriana spelled her things so that they would not weigh her down, which made moving a lot easier, even without Fen to shoulder most of the weight she had brought. 

Unsure where exactly she was going, Oriana meandered amongst people, wondering how to acquire food, now that she was well and truly alone. She still had a few things in her bag, but those would run out, and eventually, she’d have to report to the castle, so that she could rest for the evening. Perhaps, not all of her plan had been as well thought out as she had assumed. 

Before Oriana could think better of it though, she found herself drawn to a specific establishment, which might have been a tavern. The name piqued her interest, as it seemed familiar, somehow. Following the general flow of foot traffic, and some decent smelling food, Oriana walked into a place called “The Rising Sun.” 

Oriana hadn’t been in too many taverns before; Merlin had kept her far from them whenever they were on trips together. She had snuck in a few times after him, while he was procuring more sustenance for them, but otherwise, she couldn’t say she knew too much about being in one. 

Most of the business was filled, so she went unnoticed as she seated herself in a corner. It was enough that she was in there already; she didn’t need to announce that she, a person who had never travelled alone before, was indeed trying to make a space for herself there. 

A barmaid walked up to her, as she was just getting her pack settled and said, “What can I do you for?”

The woman was easily old enough to be her parent, or perhaps even grandparent, with her long greying hair, and the lines on her face. She looked kindly though, so Oriana hoped that boded well.

“A good meal, I was hoping. I’m from out of town though, so someone I know will pay for it another day, if that’s okay,” Oriana paused, and then added, “A man by the name of Merlin.”

The woman peered down at her, and cocked her head to the side.

Oriana hoped her last minute idea would pan out. She hadn’t planned on mentioning her father’s name anywhere in Camelot just yet, but something told her that it just might work. Lancelot’s stories had mentioned this establishment, which she was reminded of after she sat down. Perhaps this barmaid had known him, before?

“This one’s on the house, love. You look like you could use a bit of food. Just don’t come back expecting a second hand out, okay? I’d never get any of this lousy lot to pay their tabs, if word got out that I was giving away free meals.”

Oriana nodded.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

A tankard crashed behind them. 

“Oy, this place isn’t made of money. Tone it down, you lot.”

Then back to Oriana, “Seriously, don’t mention it.”

Oriana smiled, and nodded, before the woman walked away from her. 

Soon, there was a plate in front of her that was warm, and a drink to go with it. It burned a little going down, but alongside the food, it tasted wonderful. Ignoring the cacophony around her, Oriana ate. So engrossed in her food was she that she didn’t seem to notice until a man sitting in front of her cleared his throat, that there was anyone near her. 

“Merlin, you said?”

Oriana looked up to find a man with dark wavy hair, and brown eyes looking at her. He had some stubble too, and smelled a bit like alcohol, but he did not look like a threat. 

“I might have.”

“I haven’t heard that name in years.”

She looked down at her food, and pretended to be considering it, before looking up again to respond, “Is that so?”

“Yes. My question is, what would a young woman such as yourself know of a man named Merlin?”

Oriana looked down at her plate once more, wishing she hadn’t mentioned Merlin’s name, if only to not have to deal with a scenario such as that. She had no gauge for who was a potential friend or foe, and given that she was exhausted, that was even more true.

When her eyes found the man’s again, she exhaled slowly.

Before she could respond, the man before her was smacked upside the head with a jug of what was probably alcohol. 

She watched with an open mouth as he closed his eyes for a moment after the impact. Pieces of the jug had gone every which way. 

The offending bar patron behind him looked pleased with himself. That was, until her companion opened his eyes, winked at her, then promptly stood up and tossed his fist at the offending man’s face. Naturally, a bar fight ensued. 

So much for a simple meal, Oriana thought. 

After shoving a few more bites in her face, she grabbed all of her gear from beside her and slipped out, as the barmaid was threatening to double the price of drinks if those men didn’t stop their fighting.

Being small, it was easy to find her way out, without being too much worse for the wear. Soon, Oriana was out on the street again, walking. 

Given what had just happened, Oriana had many questions, but mostly she wondered, who on earth that man had been that had known Merlin? It was just her luck she’d come across someone he had known already. She couldn’t feel sad that mentioning his name had gotten her free food, though.

Perhaps it was time to retire in the castle, she wagered. It had been a long day, and tomorrow the real work would begin, as she got ready to compete in the tournament. 

These thoughts, along with others regarding the King, Camelot, and the tournament itself, swirled in her mind as she walked. Her feet absentmindedly had her moving in what she assumed was the general direction of the castle entrance, but she herself was so enamored by everything around her and at what she set out to do that Oriana only found herself stopping when a firm hand grasped her right shoulder, suddenly. Her eyes managed to catch a glimpse of the swish of a red cloak fluttering beside her feet, as she halted her steps in response.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, so, I'm super excited to be posting another chapter already. I'm reading and checking these over mostly myself, outside of my spouse, who Alpha reads them for content and continuity, etc. But, I fully take credit for any mistakes regarding grammar, punctuation, etc. as we're both passable at them, and nothing more. 
> 
> Anyways, if you read this far, thank you! I hope that if you're still reading this story, or if you're new to it, that you enjoyed this chapter. I'm really having fun planning and writing this fic, especially when I sprinkle in little Easter eggs here and there. 
> 
> I hope you all have a lovely day! Thank you for reading, commenting, etc.! (I'm slow to reply, but I swear I appreciate each one!)


	4. Chapter 4

“Excuse me?”

Oriana whirled around to face a man, clearly a Knight, judging by the cloak embroidered with the Pendragon crest, who was looking at her wide eyed. He had brown curly hair that fell just past his ears, and bright blue eyes that were looking down at her in something akin to wonder, and potentially fear. He did not look much older than she. 

The grasp on her shoulder was not rough, but it was still unwanted. She glared at the offending hand, and he removed it, then returned it to his side.

“My apologies, but do you have any idea how loud you are?” he demanded.

Oriana scoffed, then wrenched her body wholly away from the man’s space. She made to stride away, but stopped when he called out from behind her, “Daughter of Arthur, please, stop!”

Oriana whipped around.

Her heart started pounding rapidly in her chest, as a chill ran through her.

“How do you know that?”

The man looked at her earnestly, and said in a soft voice, almost as if he were afraid of scaring her, “I heard it.”

Her voice was shaky, as she asked, “From who?”

“You.”

Oriana backed up a few steps, and narrowed her eyes, before responding again.

“How is that even possible?”

“You have magic, yes?”

Oriana nodded. 

“So do I. Which means that I can hear you, if you do not conceal your thoughts properly.”

Realization dawned on Oriana; her father had warned her about that before. 

She shut her eyes for a moment in irritation at herself, before she opened them once more, and found the Knight still staring at her. He had not advanced towards her while she had attempted to calm her nerves. Her hands naturally were itching to reach for her sword, though.

Vaguely she wondered how well this knight of Camelot could fight.

“How much of my thoughts have you heard?”

The man grimaced, then said, “I have been searching for you all night. You’ve been quite unguarded.”

Oriana threw her hands up in frustration.

“That’s just lovely. So, you’ve heard everything?”

The man nodded. 

She sighed.

The sounds of others walking around them outside of the walled pathway filtered into her ears, but she could hardly care, given the Knight in front of her presented a predicament she had not yet considered. 

Oriana elected to cross her arms and raise an eyebrow at him.

“What will you do about me, then? Are you here to turn me over to the King?”

The knight immediately shook his head to dissent. 

“No, I simply thought you might like to know that if you walk around as you have been, then you are a target. There may be peace in Camelot, but King Arthur still has enemies and those wishing to harm the crown for the actions of his youth. If someone like that came across you, well, it would prove easy to do.”

Oriana could not say whether this Knight was correct or not, because she did not know the King, outside of what she had been told. If he were a noble sort, perhaps that would be the case in some capacity, but she would still put stock in Merlin being distraught more than Arthur Pendragon, were she to be taken or harmed. The King did not even know she existed, after all.

“Arthur is a good man, as Merlin is.”

This stopped Oriana.

“You know Merlin, as well?”

The man nodded, slowly. 

“I did, once, yes.”

Oriana looked at him, and scrutinized. He did not look old enough to have been friends with someone her father’s age. If anything, she figured he was much closer to her age than not.

“I met your father as a young child. My name is Mordred.”

“Stop doing that!”

The knight raised an eyebrow at her.

“Then close your mind. Did your father not ever teach you that?”

“Of course he did!”

“Well, you should have listened better!” Mordred hissed.

Oriana felt a rise of indignation fill her, until she realized that he was right, even before she spoke her next words.

“I was young, and a bit distracted though, when the lesson occurred.” 

She paused, then said, “I thought it was like most magic, which came naturally to me when I had need of it.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose, took a few deep breaths, then continued, “You are the  daughter of two very powerful men. You cannot just walk about, leaving your thoughts unobscured.”

Oriana sighed, again.

“If what you say is true, then help me guard my mind. I can’t very well continue walking around Camelot with the knowledge I have.”

“No, you cannot,” he agreed.

Oriana waited, as he watched her with a look that appeared to her as pensive. 

Finally, she got bored of waiting, and asked, “Well, will you help me?”

He glanced past her for a minute, then back at her.

“Do you remember what Merlin told you?”

Oriana thought back. 

It was a discussion that they had when she was about seven summers old, and a sponge for all things regarding magic. Ealdor didn’t have any other magic users, but Merlin was just starting to allow her to go places with him, so he figured she needed to know how to protect herself, not just physically, but mentally, as well. Lancelot had the sword fighting part covered, and her magic was bubbling to the surface, spilling over into her daily life. Merlin had taught her to channel that as best he could, but it was up to him to help her control that which did not manifest outwardly, as well.

_ The dragonflies were buzzing all around, as Oriana sat by the river, staring at them. Her father was seated beside her, his feet in the water up to his ankles. She had shucked her shoes off to mimic him, but only her toes were skimming the water, as they sat there on the bank of the river together. _

_ Her father cleared his throat. _

_ She startled some, then grabbed a stick from the ground, and looked over at him.  _

_ “I need you to remember, especially when you are in a new place, to conceal your thoughts, Oriana.” _

_ “How do I do that, papa?” _

_ Her question was appropriate, but absentminded, too. _

_ She was listening, but also playing with the stick, pushing dirt around with it. _

_ “To do this, you must reach inside of yourself, and find what fuels you. That is what will allow you to protect yourself under duress, and in times of calm. Spells and enchantments can only go so far. This sort of magic is unique to the user, and cannot be taught by learning words out of a book or scroll, because it is innate to your soul.” _

_ Merlin paused, and Oriana looked up to see her father staring out across the river.  _

_ When he began again, he was still looking out ahead of him, rather than at her.  _

_ “The barrier you create must be impenetrable, as it will be your only defence, should you encounter magic users of ill intent.” _

_ Merlin then turned to look at Oriana.  _

_ “I realize you are young, but the fact that you are my daughter leads me to believe that this is not about if, but when, this may happen.” _

_ “Why is that, papa?” _

_ Merlin sighed softly. _

_ “I’ve angered a lot of people.” _

“That he has.”

Mordred’s voice snapped Oriana out of her memory.

“Could you see all of that?”

“No, but I could hear you repeating what he said, in your mind.”

Oriana looked up at the knight, and exhaled slowly.

“I’ve never left Ealdor without my father before. This is all new to me.”

She knew that telling a stranger such a thing was not in her best interest, but he seemed to genuinely care, and she wanted someone to share the burden of her knowledge, if she were being honest with herself.

“If you want to survive this tournament, where magic users have traveled from all over the Five Kingdoms, including the Druids, then you need to figure it out, Oriana. Not everyone will be as kind to you.”

“I’m to believe I can trust you, then?”

“You have my name, now. If you wish, you could go straight to King Arthur with it, should I cause you harm, and I will be found. If not by him, then by Merlin, for sure.”

Oriana had no frame of reference, no surety that what he said was true, but she had no doubt about Merlin’s ability to track someone down. He had taught her those skills, after all, and without a map, she had made it to Camelot. Foolhardy as it had been, she was now not wholly untested, in that regard, at least.

“Okay, well, I need to rest. Can I trust that this conversation will remain between us?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you,” she paused, then said, “Sir Mordred.”

Oriana nearly turned away, until she heard Mordred say, “If you cannot conceal your thoughts behind a sound mental barrier, then at least allow some other thoughts to overlay the more precious ones. Most magic users have basal skills, which they use for common tasks or fighting, and therefore cannot sift through layers of someone’s mind from near or afar.”

She nodded. 

“I appreciate the knowledge.”

“Of course, my lady.” 

“I’m no lady.”

“You are the daughter of Kings, by birth. You are as much a lady as any noblewoman, title or not.”

Before she could respond, he turned around in a flourish, which allowed his cloak to billow in his wake. 

Alone once more, Oriana tread toward the front steps of the castle, as she had been told to do. Her exhaustion was palpable in every move she made. The soreness that riding brought on began to make itself known to her. A place to lie down for the night could not be found soon enough, in her opinion.

When she was finally at the large front door, she found a man in Knight’s attire, standing beside it. 

He had curly blond hair, and was about as tall as her father, which meant that she was closer to his height than not. He had a no nonsense look about him, which coupled with his overall physical features, gave him a dominating presence.

“Hello. Are you here for the tournament?”

“Yes, Sir Knight.”

The man smiled at her, and suddenly he looked less intimidating. 

“My name is Sir Leon. Do you have your scroll?”

Oriana nodded, then reached into her bag, to seek the correct documentation. Soon, she produced the scroll she had been given at the gate, and handed it to Sir Leon. 

He examined it, then waved her inside. She donned her pack again, which was still light from the spell she had cast earlier, then followed after the knight.

“According to this, you shall be residing in the corridor closest to the Great Hall. Lucky break, that. A servant will show you the way to your chamber.”

When she stepped in after him, he waved over a spare servant, and explained to her what he had already relayed to Oriana. 

As he spoke, she took in the castle around her. 

The entrance was not flashy, but functional, or so it appeared. There were castle staff walking around the immediate corridors with baskets of linens and empty dishes. Oriana was too tired to notice more, and soon, fate smiled upon her, because the servant which Sir Leon had spoken to was looking at Oriana expectantly.

“This way, please.”

Oriana nodded. 

As she passed, Sir Leon handed her scroll back to her, which she took, and held onto as the servant led her to where she would be sleeping for the duration of the tournament. 

Once the door was opened, and she was allowed into the functional, yet humble room, Oriana sloughed off all that she had been carrying, as the servant briefed her on how to bathe, amongst other things. Oriana did her best to listen, but only heard a small portion of what was being said. Her mind was exhausted from the day, and no sooner had the door shut behind the kind woman who had led her there, did she flop down on the bed she had been allotted, where she fell fast asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, again. I managed to write another chapter, which I did not expect to finish so soon, if I'm being honest. But, writing is helping me deal with life after being sick, and so here we are. I can't expect to keep this sort of posting schedule up, but I am writing on this a great deal right now, so I'd wager the frequency will be at least once a week. Every time I try to have a proper posting schedule on a project though, it ends up getting ruined or scrapped, so I hesitate to even say that, to be honest. 
> 
> Anyways, enough of my rambling. I hope that if you read this chapter, that you liked it! Writing from an OC POV in a fanfic is something that is new to me, so it's interesting to see the reactions to each chapter, tbh.
> 
> Regardless, I hope whoever sees this has a lovely day/night!


	5. Chapter 5

The rapping of knuckles against a door was the first thing that Oriana consciously heard when she awoke her first morning in Camelot. 

“Breakfast will be served in the Great Hall!,” a deep voice outside of her door bellowed out that proclamation twice, and then moved on to the next door. 

Oriana could hear the person move further from her door, as she rubbed her eyes and stretched her limbs. Once that was done, she was on her feet, where she dug in her bag for the one other set of clothes that she had brought with her.

After changing into a fresh tunic, breeches, and underclothes, she tossed what she had been wearing into the empty basket beside the door, in the hopes that she would either have time to launder them herself later, or that somehow, an errant servant might check the rooms and take pity on her. Given that she had cleaned her clothes with Hunith her whole life, Oriana was more comfortable with the former, but would accept the latter, as she remembered the night before, and the linens that had been carried about when she had stepped into the castle. Vaguely, what the servant who had led her to her chamber had said attempted to permeate her mind, but it was all jumbled, and if laundry had been mentioned, she was having trouble recalling what was said. 

With that finished, Oriana slipped her bag on and attached her sword belt around her waist, then left her room. She hoped that others would be walking about, so she could follow them to where the food was being served. 

Unfortunately, it seemed that she was the only one up and ready to go. The person who had knocked on her door was nowhere to be found. 

Oriana looked from one end of the empty corridor to the other, wondering if she should just wait for someone else to leave their own chamber. Her quarters were right in the middle, and she did not know whether to go left or right, as the night before was a blur, still. Fate did not take pity on her as she deliberated, because no one else exited their doors. So, she was on her own, again. 

“Right then, okay. I travelled from one kingdom to another, without a map in tow. Surely, I can navigate a castle,” Oriana said out loud. 

She looked left, then right again, and chose to go right. 

The castle around her was relatively quiet where the competitors were being housed, so there was no noise to follow. 

Oriana had little experience with castles. Years ago, she and Merlin had traveled to a few together, but much of what she remembered was playing with the other children that happened to reside within them. It was an exciting time, because unlike the children in Ealdor, those within the castles did not shun her or her magic. She and her father, for reasons somewhat unknown to her, had been nothing short of revered or respected, instead.

Light poured in through the windows, which took her by surprise for a split second. However, she had been exhausted, so it was less confusing to Oriana that she had overslept, the more she thought about it.

To avoid the brightness, Oriana allowed her eyes to trail down to the floor.

There was a red rug, not unlike the color of the knight’s capes, that was spread out all over the majority of the hard stone beneath her feet. Oriana walked upon this for many uncounted paces, then she came to the end of the corridor, which held another decision; to go left or right. Not a soul seemed to be around still, but there were less doors. Each way led to another long corridor. 

“Well, this is proving more difficult than I thought,” she said aloud, then sighed.

Oriana chose to turn right, and once on that path, she owned her decision by striding forward, as if she knew exactly where she was off to. In her mind, however, many doubts made themselves known to her.

Not long after these occurred, a voice in her head that was not her own made her pause. 

_“Would you like some assistance?”_

She gasped aloud, subconsciously wondering if he could hear that, too. 

After all, he was a stranger, who just happened to hear her thoughts. That would worry anyone, she suspected. Yes, she had been warned previously about it, but it’s not as if she had much prior experience with it.

_“Mordred?”_

_“Yes, fortunately, for your sake.”_  
  
Oriana was grateful that he could not see her, as she rolled her eyes. Were all knights that beholden to their own self-importance, she wondered, idly.

She then briefly considered ignoring him, but knew that would be foolish, as she was well and truly lost, somehow. 

So, she leaned against the wall to her right, and gave him directions as best she could from where she had come. Eventually, the knight was at her side once more. 

Mordred looked the same as he did the night before, except a bit more exhausted.

“Good morning,” he said, breaking the silence between them.

Oriana pushed herself off of the wall, then replied with, “The same to you.”

There was an awkward silence, then, “Well, follow me.”

She did as she was bid, and soon, after passing through only a few corridors, they were outside of tall, wooden double doors which were opened to reveal a massive hall, where food was placed and people were milling about, eating, or serving those seated.

“Here you are,” he said, with a wave of his left hand towards the open doors. 

“Thank you, Sir Mordred.”

“Think nothing of it.”

No sooner had he said that, did he walk away from her again.

Oriana ignored the brusque dismissal, in favor of walking into the Great Hall. It looked as if everyone was seating themselves, so she chose an empty chair, and sat down. There was food already there, and a clean plate, but after a quick cursory glance, it looked as if the servants were bringing extra, should someone finish the food in front of them. 

Given the half eaten meal she had experienced the night before, Oriana dug into her food, without bothering to say hello to anyone at all. 

She had managed to inhale a few pieces of cut meats, cheese, and bread, before she heard, “Hungry, are you?”

Oriana swallowed what she had in her mouth, then looked over to a woman who she wagered to be about her age. She had a mountain of curly brown hair, streaked with blonde, dark brown skin, and beautiful brown eyes. 

“Yeah.”

“My name’s Brenna. What’s yours?”

The woman took a sip of her goblet, as she waited for an answer. 

Oriana looked at her, then decided to reply, “Oriana.”

“Which part of the competition are you signing up for?”

“The magic and weaponry portion. What about you?”

Oriana ate some grapes, only to smack her lips at the sharp flavor.

“Just the weaponry. I haven’t got a lick of magic to spare.”

A small part of Oriana breathed a sigh of relief, as she still had yet to fully close her mind, as the earlier escapade had proven.

“What’s your weapon of choice?” Oriana inquired, then took a sip of her water.

“Two blades. You?”

Oriana set her goblet down, then said, “A single sword.”

“Fancy sparring together, after breakfast? We won’t face each other, so it wouldn't be unfair.”

Oriana smiled. 

A chance to stretch her legs, and prepare for the tournament was a welcome idea, as before, she had no idea what she might do with the day. Training would have, of course, been ideal, but this was her first tournament, and she was unsure whether she would get the chance, despite knowing she needed to.

“I’d like that, thank you.”

There was silence between them for a moment, as Oriana ate more of the bread that was set before her. After she chewed and swallowed, she directed another question towards Brenna.

“Where are you from?”

“Nemeth.”

Oriana nodded.

The name was a well known one to Oriana, map or no. She remembered fondly the princess she had met at Nemeth’s royal castle in her younger years, named Mithian. Though her father did not care much for Camelot, he had relayed to her news of other places, especially if it had been a place he had taken her once. Last she heard, Mithian had been crowned Queen, despite being an unmarried woman.

“Ah, Queen Mithian’s kingdom.”

“Have you been there?”

“A few times. I’m from Ealdor, which is an Eastern border town of Escetir.”

Though Oriana knew she could divulge the truth, she figured less was more, especially with someone she scarcely knew. It was as much humility, which was something Lancelot had sought to instill in her, as it was wariness, which was of Merlin’s own doing.

Brenna nodded in understanding.

“Did you like Ealdor?”

Oriana took a sip of her water out of the goblet that had sat in front of her and considered the question. She loved her family, but if she had been allowed to choose, Ealdor is not where she would have wished to grow up. 

“Not really, no.”

“Was it a hard life there?”

Oriana nodded, slowly.

“My father and I both have magic, which although is legal everywhere now, was not at one time in Camelot. Prejudices bled over, and it was hard to be different there. Outside of my friend Brigit, there were few people willing to associate with us.”

“That’s a shame,” Brenna said, then shook her head. 

“Indeed.”

The sound of dishes clattering, and others talking surrounded them as silence fell between the pair. 

Oriana found she enjoyed Brenna’s company, so she asked, “What was life like for you in Nemeth?”

She watched as Brenna swallowed her mouthful, then wiped her face with a cloth, before answering. 

“I am the second child of a powerful Lord and Lady there, so I lived comfortably, while all expectations fell to my older sister, Adelaide. I have been allowed to travel as I please, now that I am older, while she prepares for an arranged marriage.”

Oriana shuddered. 

“I could not imagine such a thing.”

“Most commoners cannot.”

Brenna did not elaborate further, but continued to eat, instead.

Oriana had a few choice thoughts about arranged marriages, but they were of no use. She did not wish to insult her companion, who did not seem bothered by the institution of it, as a whole. So, she kept them to herself.

The meal went by with little else of note to happen. 

Now that she had her wits about her, as she was fully awake, she decided to implement Mordred’s advice from the previous night. It was a bit difficult to manage at first; her true thoughts, overlaid with other more nonsensical ones, but given the necessity, she urged herself to figure it out, while she and Brenna had sat there eating. Even if her companion had no magic to speak of, she was not the only one in the Great Hall.

By the time they were rising out of their seats, Oriana felt that she had the hang of it. At least, for the next few moments, she hoped.

“There is a check-in table by the training field, if you have not already signed up. I’ve been here since yesterday, so I have,” Brenna relayed.

“Shall we go down there now, then?”

“If you are ready, then yes.”

Oriana lightly tapped her sheathed sword, which was still strapped around her waist. 

Brenna saw, then smiled, before she stepped around Oriana to begin treading towards the outdoors. 

Oriana allowed Brenna to lead the way, while she focused on concealing her thoughts. It took more effort when she was distracted, she had quickly discovered. Though there was no definitive barrier, which she began to think would actually be easier, using other verbiage as interference forced her to exert more mental energy than she had anticipated.

Had she been less focused on her mind, Oriana would have noticed more of what was around her, as she was genuinely curious about Camelot, and all it had to offer. Alas, putting one foot in front of the other to keep up with Brenna’s short but quick stride, was difficult, whilst she sorted out her thoughts. 

When her new acquaintance halted, Oriana was grateful, as there was one less thing to worry about, such as knocking into anyone else as she walked. 

The man, from the table at the entrance of Camelot the night before, was seated again, but this time at the table in front of the practice green. 

He gave her an almost uninterested glance, rather than a harried one, and asked, “Are you here to register for the tournament?”

Oriana nodded to confirm.

“Yes, please.”

At this confirmation, he pulled the leather bound ledger that lay open closer to his left hand towards him, then dipped his quill into the small pot of ink close by his right hand, before glancing back up at her. The writing instrument dripped a little ink onto the wooden table, which only added to the dried spots that were already there, Oriana noticed.

“Which branch of the tournament would you like to compete in; magic, weaponry, or both?”  
His question brought her attention back to focus wholly on him, where before her mind had begun to wander, seconds before.

“Both.”

To her, there had been no question, even before she had arrived in Camelot, so the answer came easily for her.

“Your name?”

“Oriana.”

The man raised his left eyebrow at her. 

“Is that all? No last name or title?”

“I am from the small village of Ealdor, on the border between Escetir and Camelot.”

The man scrawled a note in his ledger, then looked up at her again.

“Very well, Oriana of Ealdor. The opening ceremony is tomorrow, so be prepared to rise from your bed early, as the King does not like to be kept waiting. Each set of competitors will be introduced by name. Given that you are competing in the magic and weaponry branch of the tournament, you will be in the third group.”

At mention of the King, a sliver of worry made itself known to her. This urged her to ask her next question.

“Sir, how will my name be announced?”

“Oriana of Ealdor.”

If King Arthur were in the crowd, that simply would not do. She had a sneaking suspicion he would know that name, and that would bring unwanted attention. It’s not as if Ealdor was a large place. While she had every intention of meeting with him, she wished for it to be on her own terms. Perhaps he would think nothing of it, and her worries were all for naught. However, she couldn't take that chance.

“Could you please make sure only my name is called out?”

The man gave her an irritated look, but still reached for his quill and struck out what Oriana assumed was Ealdor.

“As you wish. Will that be all?”

She nodded. 

“If you plan to spar, the practice green and training grounds are open to all throughout the duration of the tournament, as is the armory should you need a spare weapon.”

“Thank you,” Oriana replied. 

The man waved a hand at her, and she knew she had been dismissed. 

Brenna, who had walked past the table as Oriana had gotten her sign in sorted, was waiting for her at the far end of the practice green, with her two swords. 

There were other competitors sparring, but Oriana slipped around them, careful not to be in their way. Once up close, she marveled at the blades that Brenna was grasping on either side of herself. 

Unlike Oriana, Brenna was small in stature, so the blades were well past her hip. Still, they were silver, engraved with artistic swirls, and curved slightly. 

“Your blades are beautiful.”

Brenna nodded.

“Thank you. They were a present from my parents.”

Oriana dropped her bag, and unsheathed her own sword. 

It was not as flashy, but she had used it for years, so she knew how it moved. 

Brenna glanced at the single blade, and nodded, approvingly. 

“Your blade looks as if it was made for you.”

Oriana dipped her head in confirmation. 

“My own parents had commissioned it for me, as a surprise.”

The day they had presented it to Oriana, was the day that Lancelot felt she had learned all he could teach her. She was unsure of where they had it made, as they had acquired it in secret. However, she knew that whoever had made it was an excellent blacksmith. There was no other sword she wished to wield.

“So, the rules are no magic, and we stop when one of us is flat on our backs. Are these terms agreeable to you?”

Oriana nodded. 

Though she would have preferred to be wearing armor while sparring with someone who carried two blades, Oriana accepted that she would need to have a go at it without donning the armor. She had sparred many times without it, but as Lancelot had been gone for some time, she was a bit rusty. Knowing that fact, she had hoped that where she lacked with her sword, her magic could take the lead. However, given that Brenna had none, she would just have to figure it out without that. 

“Okay. Shall we start?”

Oriana dropped into a familiar stance. Her muscles were sore from the intense riding beforehand, so they strained in protest. She ignored them though, as her focus had to be elsewhere if she did not wish to make a fool of herself. 

“Begin!” Brenna said. 

The two women circled each other, watching each other’s footwork to gain an idea of who they were dealing with. Oriana did not wish to be the first to strike, given that she had not one blade, but two, to contend with, as well as her thoughts. Lancelot would have bade her to wait out her opponent, as that would give her the upper hand. However, the pair continued as they were, which made it seem as if they were in a proper stalemate. That would not be sustainable if they wished to engage in a proper sword fight. 

Oriana looked for an opening, and found it soon, as Brenna had glanced away for a mere second. Capitalizing on her partner’s inattention, Oriana moved swiftly, slicing her sword against the leather bracer on Brenna’s left arm. 

As if that were the action she needed, Brenna began to come for Oriana and the two engaged in a heated sparring session; one in which Oriana was not immediately the undisputed winner, either. To say she was impressed would be putting it mildly. 

At one point, Brenna pinned Oriana against the castle wall, her blades crossed where Oriana’s neck met her chest. 

“Care to give in?”

Oriana laughed, but she stopped seconds later as she felt herself falling to the ground. When her body hit the earth, she had just managed to make sure her sword would not impale her. 

Before she could rise from where she was, there was a blade pointed at her throat. It had only just started, but ended much too soon for her liking. 

She sighed, and slapped the ground, before Brenna said, “Do you yield?”

Oriana nodded, then dropped her head back, breathing heavily. 

After a few moments, Oriana sheathed her sword, and allowed herself to take Brenna’s offered hand, so that she could have help rising to her feet. Once she was, Brenna sheathed her own swords, while embarrassment rose in Oriana swiftly. She fought tears, as she stood, and caught her breath. Though it had not been a long match, it had been an intense one.

“You fight well, for a commoner.”

Oriana felt a twinge of pride, but also irritation at the comment.

“You thought me an easy target, then?”

Brenna did not immediately answer. 

She grasped the handles of her blades, then looked at Oriana. 

“Most magic users, regardless of who they are, but especially those of lower status, rely on that to carry them through a fight.” 

She paused, taking a few more breaths, then said, “You fight as if you haven’t a drop of magic; as if you could not conceive of using anything other than your own blade and body.”

“I was taught by an excellent swordsman,” Oriana said, really struggling to hold back tears then.

Given Lancelot’s teachings, coupled with Merlin’s own in regards to her magic, she had become unaccustomed to losing, the older she got. All of that knowledge, and she had allowed herself to become complacent, which had lost her the sparring session. It grated every fiber of her being, knowing that she had not won. Still, she willed herself to keep a stiff upper lip, at least for the time being.

“Well, it shows. You will do well in this tournament.”

“Thank you, for sparring with me. You and your blades were a challenge for me, I must admit.”

Oriana paused, to take a breath. After she exhaled, she said, “I wish you luck. When I’m not on the field, I will cheer for you.”

Brenna nodded, then the two parted. 

Regardless of Oriana’s own feelings about it all, Brenna had been a good sport, and it would be rude to treat her as anything less than what she was; a decent person and a skilled swordsperson. 

Oriana left the practice green, in the hopes that somehow she would make it to the stables, before she began to cry in earnest. She had no idea where she was going, but that mattered little. Her mind honed in on the fact that she wished to see Fen, as she had thought little of him since his reins had been taken from her hands, and now, he was the only one she wished to see. 

Little droplets fell, as she walked across the sprawling castle grounds. 

Signs were posted here and there, which was overwhelmingly new to her, as Ealdor was so small that a place like that had no need to do such a thing. 

This thought settled in her as her boots first crunched the dust and grime of the stable floor beneath her.

A stable hand waved from a stall he had exited, upon seeing her, and then came to stand near her. 

“What do you need, ma’m?”

“I wish to see my horse, Fen.”

“Could you describe him?”

So she did, and soon she was led to a stall much further down, where Fen stood. He had oats and water, as well as hay. He was more than complacent, she was willing to bet. 

“Thank you,” she said to the stable hand. 

Once Fen caught sight of her, he walked forward.

She placed a hand on the left side of his face, then leaned her forehead against his. A few seconds later, grateful for the familiar feel of horse hair against her skin, she closed her eyes. 

Hot tears of embarrassment and perhaps a bit of sadness, poured from her eyes. 

All that she had done to learn, and still she had not been good enough. A small part of her knew that she had been too assured of herself, but why shouldn’t she be? She had earned the right to be after years of training alongside two competent men, she had thought. 

Perhaps not.

A small part of her wondered, in the state she was in, whether she belonged in Camelot at all. Had she been foolish enough to think that she would fare well in a place where commoners and nobles alike were allowed to enter the tournament? Surely, even given Lancelot’s tutelage, there would be gaps in her knowledge. Merlin nor Hunith would swordfight much either, unless necessary, so she was hardly in top form. Perhaps, she mused, that it might be better to withdraw. 

The thought of facing that man seated at the table again so soon, though, did not sit well with her. That, and if she had disappointed herself with the fight earlier, then giving up would likewise make her parents feel the same. She did not wish to dishonor them in that way, at least. Especially not after all she had done just to reach Camelot.

Oriana stroked Fen’s cheek, whilst calming herself down, once the tears had flown freely for a little bit. It would not do well to be found in the state she was in by anyone, as she had to maintain an air of indifference, or someone might exploit those weaknesses either in the pitch or outside of it.

“What would you say to a bit of stretching your legs, Fen?”

Oriana was not sure what to do with the rest of her day, but if the opening ceremony was in the morning, she hoped that perhaps she could have a bath, before she faced Arthur for the first time. However, in that moment, she needed to be away from the city and amongst the greater outdoors, for a while, at least. So, she tacked up her horse, with the intent to do just that.

Once they were out in the fresh air, the suffocating feel of the city began to dissipate the further she and Fen were from Camelot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the world is a tense and worrisome place, more so than usual, and I hope everyone is okay and staying safe right now, etc. I'm anxiously awaiting the news, as a lot of people are. But, I hope if you read this, that it'll help take your mind away from all of that for at least a little while. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter! Either, have a safe and wonderful day!
> 
> PS. I have updated the tags to reflect where the story will be headed in this particular work, etc. 
> 
> I've written multiple chapters ahead in the linear sense, as well as begun a few one shots, a potential prequel of sorts, the sequel, and... other future scenes in this story as well. So, there's that. Thought I'd mention, anyways.


	6. Chapter 6

Trumpets blared as Oriana walked to the competition ring. 

Straggling spectators meandered towards the stands to watch the imminent proceedings. A few stopped to gaggle at the people who were gathering near the competitor’s entrance.

Oriana found the queue which she was meant to be in, and stood there, waiting for her turn to enter the ring. 

Unlike the night before last, despite her aching limbs, she had been unable to sleep soundly. Thoughts of her first sighting of Arthur were all tangled up in her myriad of emotions regarding him. She had spent the last twenty years of her life not knowing the man. What if this was all a horrible mistake? What if there was a reason Merlin had kept her from the King? 

Though she had told Brigit that her primary reason for travelling to Camelot was for the tournament, Oriana could not deny that the thought of meeting King Arthur had been a stronger pull than the former. Competitions such as the one she had entered, were not the only of its kind, and she could have chosen to travel elsewhere for one, such as Nemeth. Camelot may have founded the idea to meld the two fighting styles, but other kingdoms had followed suit. It was true that if she had journeyed to somewhere beyond Nemeth, Caerleon, or the like, she might have had to pretend she held a title of some sort, whereas in Camelot, commoners were accepted as equal to that of nobles who entered. If she had traveled to another Kingdom though, it was unlikely she could have met King Arthur, though. 

A cough startled her out of the web of thoughts she had constructed; concealed as best she could have, given all of the cacophony around her. 

Oriana looked ahead, and examined some of the people in front of her as she had thus far not paid much attention to anyone else in her competition bracket.

Since the day before with Brenna, she had kept to herself, when not in the Great Hall for meals. The midday and evening meals found her seated with Brenna, where they spoke about whatever came to mind. Once they left the table though, Oriana returned to her room, and worked on what Mordred had suggested, whilst preparing for the tournament itself. 

She sharpened her sword while practicing the trick he had suggested. It proved to be difficult, but in the sanctity of her borrowed chamber, it was easier to practice than when out amongst people. That would come the next day. 

Most of the people in front of her looked to be sound warriors. There was only so much one could glean from turned backs, however. One of them pivoted around, looked at her, then past her. It seemed she was not the only one surveying potential rivals. The others were looking forward, choosing to ignore those around them. 

Those who were competing in weaponry had just been called, as had people who were only there to wield magic, before them. It was now time for the line Oriana stood in to walk out onto the field. 

Being at the back of the queue, Oriana was unsure who had signalled the front to begin moving, but they did, and so she followed. As they walked out under the gaze of Camelot, she heard names being called. When hers was reached, her breath caught for a moment, only to be released as she realized what had been done, to make her’s uniform with the others. 

“Oriana of Escetir.”

The dirt crunched under her boots as she turned to face where the King of Camelot sat. 

The dual wielders stood at the back, as they were the last group to file in. 

From where she stood, the King was not clear to her exactly, but he looked every inch the monarch that he was, as he stood and welcomed all who had chosen to compete, as well as spectate. The only physical features she could truly glean from him, other than his pale, but lightly sun touched skin, was his bright blond hair, which stood out, against the bright red cloak attached at his shoulders. All else was but a blur, given how far back Oriana stood.

After his greeting, which was harder to hear given the noise all around, there was raucous clapping and cheering. 

He seated himself, and soon it was all over. 

The competitors began filing out so that the first day of the tournament could commence. 

The weaponry group filed out first, then the magic users, and then the dual wielders. Before Oriana stepped out of the ring, she found herself glancing back at the King. He was staring out at the competitors leaving, and for a moment, she thought he saw her looking at him, so she turned away. 

Now that they had all been paraded out, they were free to join the spectators in the stands, if they were not meant to fight soon. Brenna was amongst the first pairs, so Oriana planned to stay and cheer on her new acquaintance. If that also meant she might steal another glimpse at Arthur, well that was simply an added bonus. 

Before she could make it up there though, Oriana spied a figure marching straight for her, out of the corner of her right eye. She turned to see Sir Mordred, in all his knightly finery, halt in front of her. 

_“You need to close your mind.”_

_“Have I not managed to do that thus far?”_

_“No. I heard you minutes ago, thinking again.”_

Oriana’s eyes widened. 

Her thoughts had primarily revolved around Arthur since after her fight with Brenna yesterday. If Mordred had heard her moments ago, that was not good. 

_“I shall do better.”_

_“See to it that you do, Oriana. There are too many people here for you to make such a blunder again.”_

She nodded. 

To the casual passerby, the two might look like lovers, as they gazed at each other. It was a fleeting thought that she tossed aside not long after it had occurred to her.

Before he could walk away, Oriana asked, _“Can I ask you something?”_

He nodded. 

_“Is this conversation private?”_

_“Yes, the magic involved with this is separate from individual thoughts. No one should be able to intercept us.”_

_“Can all magic users speak with one another like this?”_

He shook his head. 

_“No, it is only those with great ability, who are largely in control of their powers that can manage this. There are not many who fit that description, in Camelot or out.”_

_“Great ability, you say?”_

_“You are the daughter of Emrys. It’s no wonder your powers are a tier or two above most magic users.”_

_“Emrys?”_

Mordred’s eyes widened, then he said aloud, “Goddess, help me.”

_“Who is Emrys?”_

_“You should ask your father about that.”_

Oriana sighed.

_“I find it hard to believe that if he has failed to mention it to me before, that he had planned on explaining that to me in the first place. I will keep that in mind, though, for when I see him again.”_

Mordred looked at her with what Oriana presumed to be incredulity, but did not respond. 

Cheering and clapping erupted, which made Oriana look back toward the ring. She did not want to miss Brenna’s first fight.

So, she turned back to Mordred, again. 

“Do you wish to watch the tournament?” Oriana asked aloud.

“Yes.”

“Would you like to sit together?”

Mordred pursed his lips, and scrutinized her for a moment, before he responded.

“I had planned on seating myself with some of the other Knights of Camelot.”

For some reason, Oriana felt her heart sink. She barely knew Mordred, but other than Brenna, he was the only other person she had spoken with at length in Camelot. That of course meant little, she knew. He did not owe her a thing, and she would never expect him to feel as if he did.

“Oh, well, I hope you enjoy it.”

She had turned away from him, intent on finding somewhere she could squeeze into the packed stadium, before she heard, “Oriana?”

The woman in question glanced back to see Mordred looking at her with another scrutinizing stare. 

“Would you like to join me?”

“Is that allowed?”

The Knights of Camelot were their own group, made up of nobles and commoners alike, who had sworn fealty to the crown of the kingdom. There were tales of them and their bravery, which were spoken of in and outside of their own kingdom. Even if she had never met a single one, she knew who they were, before ever setting foot into their realm.

“We sit amongst the people, so there will be a place for you, too, beside me.”

Oriana nodded.

“Okay, then. Lead the way, Sir Knight.”

A small smile revealed itself across Mordred’s features. 

“As you wish, my lady.”

Oriana found herself smiling back, rather than correcting him again. 

Then, he held out his arm to her, which she took, as she knew it would be easier to walk through the crowd that way. Commoners would more likely part the way for a Knight, but not for someone they perceived as one of their own.

“It will be easier to find a place to sit in between matches.”

“I'd like to avoid missing Brenna’s match.”

“Have you made a friend, already?”

The question was conversational, rather than judgmental. 

“Potentially, yes.”

Oriana hoped that would be the case, anyways. 

Friends in Ealdor had been hard to come by. Though Oriana loved Brigit, given that she was so far away, it would be nice to have another friend closer by to enjoy her time with, when she was not training, or otherwise worrying about the state of her ambitions.

“Well, I cannot promise you won’t miss it, but we can climb the stairs and see if there is a way to be seated, soon.”

“Thank you, Mordred.”

The two did as he suggested, after walking around at the ground level to where he said the Knights would be, then entering through a stairwell that would lead almost directly up to them. 

After wending their way through the crowd, which did indeed part for them, Oriana found herself seated near a number of men, and a few women, clothed in the customary Knight attire. The competitors were trading out places on the field, so she casually looked around her, only to find that the man she had seen in the tavern the other night was seated in Camelot colors, looking directly at her. 

“Mordred, might I know the name of your lady friend?”

Mordred glanced to Oriana, and rolled his eyes. 

“The lady can speak for herself, Gwaine.”

She smirked, as Mordred looked back at the other Knight.

Gwaine, that was the man’s name. 

_“I met him the other night, in The Rising Sun.”_

Mordred did not turn back to her, but his reply was swift.

_“Do you wish for him to leave you alone?”_

That was the question of the moment, wasn’t it? Now that she knew he was a Knight, was it possible to avoid him, and his pointed question?

_“He overheard me mention my father’s name, then asked me how I knew him. Is he to be trusted?”_

Oriana knew she had not known Mordred for long, but he had proven to be of a decent sort, and she tentatively trusted his judgement. If he said Sir Gwaine was not to be trusted, then she would avoid him at all costs. 

_“Gwaine only became a knight at the behest of your father. He is one of few men to arrive, speak Merlin’s name, and live to tell the tale. Arthur does not take kindly to people speaking of your father in his presence.”_

Oriana chewed on this new piece of information. So, Gwaine was a friend of Merlin? Perhaps, he could be an ally to her as well. 

She glanced back at Gwaine, who was looking out at the field, rather than at her. Before she looked away though, his gaze met hers again. 

“My name is Oriana.”

He nodded, then returned his attention to the ring once more.

She did not believe that would be the end of their interactions, but where they sat was not the venue for such discussion, especially not when there were many eyes on her now. The sight made her uncomfortable, so she glanced back at Mordred.

His eyes were on the field, until she looked his way. 

“The next pair are out there, now.”

Oriana turned to face the field, and saw Brenna there. 

“The woman on the far side is Brenna.”

“We made it here just in time, then.”

“So it would seem, thank you.”

Mordred did not bother to reply, and so Oriana lapsed into silence as she watched Brenna drop into her beginning stance. The man she was facing was much larger than her, and he held a mace in one hand, and a shield in the other. How the brackets were decided, Oriana did not know, but that did not seem like a fair fight. 

As the match began, Brenna circled the man who had started to twirl his mace around him. Oriana was genuinely worried for her new friend, but she kept her fears to herself, as she watched. 

The man swung first, just narrowly missing her. 

In the aftermath of his swing gone awry, Brenna swiftly moved forward, and sliced him in the leg and stomach, then pulled back. He stumbled backwards, as she appeared to have cut him quite deep. Still, he stood, swinging his mace about. 

Rather than waiting this time, he opted for a different approach; he barreled toward the small woman, who caught onto his new tactic quickly, then lithely moved away from him. As she did though, he grazed her back with his mace. 

Oriana gasped, and turned her head into Mordred’s shoulder. 

She loved the art of sword fighting, but watching someone else be harmed was not easy for her. 

When she realized what she had done though, she pulled away, and did not dare look him in the eyes. She had not meant to be so familiar with a stranger. 

On the pitch, Brenna was holding her own, despite the injury she had received, it seemed. 

Her movements had slowed, but she was still leagues ahead of her opponent, whose size and wounds were a detriment to him.

Brenna managed to land a few more deep cuts, and then in a move which was reminiscent of the one she had used on Oriana yesterday, she flipped the man on his back. 

The crowd erupted, and Oriana stood to join in as she watched Brenna complete her first victory, by having the man yield underneath her blades. Their voices were lost to the cacophony around them. 

Once Brenna was off the field, and the cheering had ceased, Oriana looked to Mordred. 

“Your new friend did well.”

“She’s an excellent fighter. Yesterday when we sparred, she just barely bested me with those very same blades.”

Saying it out loud stung less, after she had cried about it, many hours before.

“Did you use magic?”

“No, as she does not have any.”

_“To my limited knowledge, Merlin was hardly one to use a sword. Has that changed?”_

_“No. I was taught by his friend, Lancelot.”_

Mordred’s eyes widened as he looked at her.

_“There have been rumors that Lancelot disappeared with Merlin, but no one knew for sure if they were true.”_

_“He lived with us in Ealdor, until his death.”_

Oriana was grateful when the next pair of opponents walked onto the field, as it distracted Mordred from the conversation at hand.

The mention of Lancelot and his death though sullied her excitement. 

Rather than looking toward the fight, she found herself glancing to where King Arthur sat. He was not far from the Knights, as they were a line of defense between him and any threat that could arise amidst all of the gaiety. To her knowledge, he was an excellent warrior, but no single person was infallible. Thankfully, he was watching the fight, so she could observe him undeterred. 

From where Oriana sat, he looked to be about her father’s age, with a beard to rival Merlin’s. His hair was blond, unlike her’s or Merlin’s, which were both closer to that of a raven’s. Given that he was seated, she could not be for certain exactly how tall he was. However, he looked to be at least as tall as Merlin, though he was not as rail thin as her father. A life of luxury could do that to a person, she supposed.

_“Oriana, conceal, please.”_

Her eyes widened, then she turned back to the match, which seemed to be right in the thick of it. 

She glanced at Mordred a little later, who flicked his gaze down to her, before he returned to watching the fight. Truth be told, she had no desire to watch anymore. Her mind was spent, and the mention of Lancelot had only worsened her ability to keep a proper hold on her thoughts. If she were not surrounded by so many people, she would just leave on her own.

_“If you wish to leave, I will escort you out, after this match.”_

_“I wouldn’t want to ruin your fun.”_

_“Your thoughts are a liability. I would have a much better time knowing that you are not allowing yourself, Camelot, or the King, to be put in harm’s way. That is my job, after all.”_

_“Alright, thank you.”_

Oriana did her best to watch the two men before her, slashing at each other, whilst finding something frivolous to think about as she did. It took them much longer than she wished to complete the fight, but once it was done, she was on her feet, placing her hands on Mordred’s left arm, as she had before. 

The two made their way through the throngs of people. She had little care for the eyes that had followed her from the moment she stood up. Her only thought was returning to her chamber, and perhaps having a lie down. After all, she had not slept well the night before. 

When they were outside of the arena, and firmly away from all crowds, she removed her hands from his arm. 

“Can I trust that you will find your chamber on your own?”

Oriana turned to Mordred, and saw a teasing sort of expression upon his face.

“I believe so, yes.”

She allowed silence to fall between them for a moment, before she added, “Thank you, for your help today.”

Mordred made a small mock bow, then said, “I live to serve, my lady.”

Oriana rolled her eyes. 

“Good day, Sir Knight.”

She turned and walked back to the castle, hoping to find some of the sleep she had lost the night before.

* * *

  
Oriana had just woken from her kip, when a firm knock sounded against her door. Curious as to who it could be, she rose from her bed and opened it to find Sir Gwaine on the other side. 

“May I come in?”

She nodded, and stepped aside for him to enter, before she shut the door. 

Once she faced him, where his feet had planted themselves beside her full length mirror, she crossed her arms.

“I apologize for my intrusion,” he began.

“I expected you would seek me out, eventually.”

“Given that our conversation at the tavern was interrupted the other night, I’ll ask again; what does a young woman such as yourself know about a man named Merlin?”

Oriana had two choices; she could either lie, or reveal the truth. If what Mordred said was correct, then Sir Gwaine could prove to be as trustworthy as Lancelot had been. She was willing to bet though that Mordred had not lied. With that thought in mind, she stood tall, squared her shoulders, affixed him with a determined gaze, then said, “He’s my father.”

Gwaine’s eyes widened.

“Well, I’ll be,” he replied seconds later.

“According to Sir Mordred, I am to believe you are to be trusted, as you and my father are friends.”

Gwaine smiled, then his features became more serious, again.

“I would give my life for Merlin, if that were necessary. However, whether you trust me, is up to you, Oriana.”

Oriana knew she was playing a gambler’s game, by divulging the next piece of information, but she felt that this man was a person to trust, so she did. 

“I came to Camelot for two reasons; to compete in the tournament, and to meet my other father.”

She watched as Gwaine knitted his eyebrows, then said, “Does Merlin know of your intentions?”

“He does not know I am here, no.”

Gwaine whistled; it was a high to low pitched sound.

“Are you not curious as to who it might be?”

Gwaine smiled, and shook his head. 

“There is only one man I know of within these walls who could be the one you seek.”

Silence fell between them, as Oriana parsed out what she wished to say next. 

Finally, she spoke again.

“Can I ask you something?”

Gwaine nodded. 

“I’ve spent my whole life wishing I knew who Arthur was. Merlin refused to speak of him, so my information came from a friend of his and most recently, my grandmother. Is there a reason Merlin would not wish for me to know him? Mordred speaks well of both of Merlin and Arthur, but when I asked about you, he told me that Arthur does not take kindly to people mentioning Merlin.”

Gwaine sighed. 

“I was not in Camelot when Merlin was, but from what I gather, both he and Arthur are miserable without the other. They have been, for a long time, I think. Both of them are too stubborn to admit it though, so instead, they do not wish to hear the other’s name.”

“Do you think it foolish then for me to meet Arthur? I would only be a living reminder that he and Merlin are no longer together.”

Gwaine scoffed.

“If Arthur is so ignorant in his own misery that he would shun you, then that is his loss.”

Oriana grimaced. 

“Can you swear to me that what we’ve discussed will remain secret?”

“Of course. I have no desire to see myself in the dungeon for an evening.”

“Would he really do that?”

Gwaine smiled and shook his head, which jostled his long dark hair along with it.

“Probably not, but I’d rather not test him. Not with that, at least.”

Another thought occurred to Oriana. 

“Did Arthur marry?”

Gwaine shook his head briefly, once more. 

“No, he and his sister Morgana are co-rulers, along with her wife, Lady Guinevere.”

Despite her focus being on gathering information about Arthur, her heart skipped a little, knowing that there were family members of hers alive that she had yet to meet. 

“I only saw Arthur seated in the box meant for royals at the tournament, though.”

“Queen Morgana and Lady Guinevere are on a diplomatic mission, right now. Arthur has been left behind to care for the kingdom and run the tournament. He always did like a good tourney, after all.”

Gwaine was smiling at her, again, as he finished his previous statement.

Oriana quieted, thinking about all that she had been told. 

Gwaine took the opportunity, amidst her silence, and said, “You look so much like both of them, it’s uncanny.”

She was unsure of how to respond to that. Her whole life she had been told she looked so much like Merlin. The resemblance, if you put them beside each other, was clear. After seeing Arthur from afar, she could not tell whether Gwaine was right or not yet. 

A knocking at her door rang throughout the chamber, before it was followed by a now familiar voice, “Supper is being served in the Great Hall soon.”

The call was repeated, as was the custom, then the voice disappeared further down the corridor.

“I suppose that’s my cue,” Gwaine said.

He walked to the door, but turned around to her, with his hand on the knob. 

“Good luck in the tournament, Oriana. If you need anything, do not hesitate to seek me out.”

Without another word, Sir Gwaine left the room, shutting the door firmly behind himself. 

Oriana paused for a moment, working to regain control of her emotions, and her thoughts, as the two were inexplicably linked. Sir Gwaine had proven to be a wealth of information, but in being so, he had unsettled her. She could not go eat amongst her fellow competitors if she could not conceal the knowledge she now held.

She thought of the match Brenna had just that morning, and Sir Mordred with his willingness to help someone he hardly knew. Then, she thought of her grandmother, Hunith, and the process of baking bread. Simple things they were, but she found her mind calm, and those thoughts overlay what needed to remain hidden. 

After giving her brain the busy work it needed, Oriana grabbed her bag, and headed out of the door for the evening meal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I had meant to wait at least a week to post this next chapter, but I'm honestly impatient, and super excited right now, so here it is. I hope someone enjoys!
> 
> (There may or may not be a Chapter 7 coming soon, as well, but that all depends on a few factors, so I won't say for sure, just yet.)
> 
> Regardless, I hope you're having a great day/night/etc.!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BEFORE YOU READ: I feel it's worth noting that a part of this chapter has been added into the tags for "poisoning, intentional poisoning,", in case there is anyone who may not want to read that. It's not too gruesome, but some side effects are discussed, which might not be some peoples' cup of tea. So, there's that. 
> 
> Also, I've updated the tags once again, to reflect things I forgot to add beforehand. That will continue as time goes on, and I post more chapters, just fyi.

In comparison to the bustling castle Oriana had tread through that morning, by stark contrast, when she entered the library after breakfast, it was eerily quiet. Upon further inspection, she discovered that other than herself, it seemed one other occupied the room, that she could see from the threshold of the entrance to it. 

The man in question stood with a sharp glare behind the large desk opposite of the door she had walked through moments before, his arms crossed, waiting for her to descend fully into what appeared to be his domain. Though he cut a small figure, his unwelcoming presence was large. From where she stood, she could discern that much, at least.

“Welcome to Camelot’s library. I am George, the librarian. Should you need anything while you are here, I should be the first person that you ask.”

His words were stiff and did nothing to endear him to her further, but she still said, “Thank you.”

A moment of silence elapsed between them, before she spoke up again.

“Where might I find books regarding magic?”

George did little more than purse his lips, then said, “Follow me, please.”

Oriana did as he asked, whilst looking around at the scrolls and tomes stuffed in the shelves, wondering what they all contained. Unlike their scant collection back in Ealdor, what she had encountered thus far in Camelot’s library was infinitely larger. 

In reality though, the picturesque beauty of it all meant more to her than the actual contents of each of the works. Books and such were a means to an end, for her. Were Oriana to know what they contained, without having to sit for hours to learn, that would be her ideal situation. However, unless by way of certain more difficult types of magic, that was impossible. Given that her father had imparted that using magic for everything did indeed have drawbacks, she had given up on utilizing those short cuts some time ago, as she had been begrudgingly forced to admit he was right.

The abrupt stop that George made a bit later, nearly caused her to collide with him. By the grace of her quick reflexes alone, she caught herself before that could happen, though. 

Seconds later, he fixed her with an unaffected look and gestured to an ornate door in front of them, which by appearance alone, seemed out of place in comparison to the older walls and shelving around it. The swirls and designs that were carved into its freshly painted wooden surface were mesmerizing. It was only when a cough sounded beside her, did Oriana notice she had diverted her attention wholly from the librarian to survey it, instead.

“As I was saying, this room contains all texts in reference to magic. No sustenance nor beverage of any kind is permitted in the library, but especially in this room. Experiments regarding what you have read, are expressly prohibited here within these walls. Should you wish to take notes, I have scraps of parchment, ink, and unused quills at my desk for your use. I do request though that you place the ink as far from the materials as possible, should you need to do this. Do you have any questions?”

“No, thank you.”

He gave her a curt nod, then said, “I shall be checking back here periodically, should you need something.”

Oriana nodded absentmindedly, whilst thinking it sounded more like a threat than a friendly reminder, especially in that droll voice of his. 

“Okay.”

George disappeared without so much as another word, seconds later. 

Once left to her own devices, she walked forward and turned the handle. It, too, was engraved, and set with an ostentatious bright blue jewel. Not a moment later, Oriana found herself gazing at a large space beyond it. 

The chamber itself held walls of text on the ground floor, but also above on what looked to be a second level. Comfortable lounging spaces, as well as plush armchairs, were scattered throughout the chamber from what she could see. The floor was made of stone, of course, as the rest of the castle was. At the center though of the central area, there was a statue of a dragon, holding a book. It dominated the space, and Oriana felt a bit smaller in its expansive presence, as it gazed down at her, rather than the text it was holding.

It was only when a book was shut, did she notice that she was not alone. 

Oriana’s eyes snapped over to her right to be met with a face she somewhat vaguely recognized. 

The man stood a bit taller than her, and had brown hair cropped so short, it hardly had any length to it at all. His skin was pale, similar to hers, as it was. 

She looked directly into his eyes for a moment, then turned away, because unlike Brenna’s own warm brown ones, his hazel eyes felt unfriendly the second she met his gaze.

“Hello,” he said.

She stepped forward to enter the room in earnest, then only after she shut the door, did she say, “Hello.”

Silence expanded between them, so she opted to walk further into the room, poring over the possibilities before her in that moment, as she did. It was almost overwhelming to her, the idea that she could lose herself for hours or even days in that room, and still not learn all there was to know, contained within one place.

The voice behind her cut through the calm again to ask, “So, you’re a dual wielder?”

Oriana glanced behind her, seeing him grasping another book from the shelf in front of him, as she did. Directly after, she thought back to the day before, and then remembered who he was; the man who had noticed her while she was surveying the other people standing around her. That meant at some point, she could face him at the pitch. Unlike Brenna, she would need to keep this man at an arm’s length at least. 

“Yes, I am.”

Attempting to feign interest in the conversation, she then asked, “Have you fought in any tourneys before?”

Truly, she had no inclination to speak with him, given the first round of magic users were set to begin soon. Whether she could be seated with Mordred, or amongst the crowd elsewhere, she still had a desire to attend. However, given her match was tomorrow, she did wish to study up some, and potentially learn a thing or two before stepping into the ring. Were he to continue bothering her though, that might not be possible before she left to see the second day of the tournament. 

“This would be one in a number of them that I have entered, and won.”

Oriana got the feeling he was not simply stating a fact to her. 

Still, her curiosity got the better of her, so she asked, “Do you travel to compete?”

He shrugged.

“Sometimes, but I’ve lived in Camelot my whole life, and we tend to have a tournament of some sort a few times of year, at least. The King is quite fond of them.”

Oriana did her best to conceal her thoughts at the mention of Arthur. If this man beside her had won several tournaments in a bracket like theirs, potentially, he would be able to hear her thoughts, as Mordred could. It would not do to take any chances, regardless.

With that thought in mind, she replied rather dismissively. 

“Oh, that sounds lovely.”

After, she walked away, hoping if she put some more physical distance between them, that he might leave her be, and take the hints she had left like breadcrumbs for him to see in her wake. Instead, he followed her, and the itch to give him a few choice words broiled up within her as he stopped not far from her a few moments later. 

Still, she tamped the urge down, then said, “As nice as it is to meet you, I’d like to peruse what’s here before I have to find a seat for today’s bracket. So, if you wouldn’t mind,” she trailed off, hoping that would be enough then.

There was very little space between them, as he peered down at her, and it made her quite uncomfortable. 

Rather than vocalize that though, she made the impulsive decision after that quick revelation to step away, and made for the door.

“Done so soon?”

“I’m going to look for a good seat in the stands.”

She had almost left the chamber, when he shot back, “Won’t be able to tag along with your knight of Camelot, today?”

  
If Oriana hadn’t liked the stranger before, she definitely did not care for his presence then. 

“I can manage on my own, thank you. Not that it’s any of your business.”

He made a faux face of surprise, then said, “Can you? Is that why I witnessed you lose spectacularly yesterday to someone without a drop of magic in her veins?”

Oriana had meant to step away, truly. After all, she had taken figurative and literal strides to remove herself from the situation. Regardless, she was not the pinnacle of perfection, after all. 

So, she whirled around, and said, “Everyone has an off day. Given I haven’t had a decent sparring session in a while, I was bound to have one, you pompous arse.”

He moved forward, crossing the distance between them again, waving his hands and talking as he did.

“If that’s the case, then why on earth would you bother with entering the class which requires proficiency in both swordsmanship and magic? If you can’t even fight with that subpar blade, how do you expect to fare when you’ll have to use it and your magic?”

Oriana knew she should step away, because he was a fellow competitor, most likely only seeking to rile her up. It shouldn’t have meant anything, but somehow, he had managed to hit multiple mental pressure points, and her irritation had gone from dormant to raging in a matter of a few heart beats. 

“I’ll show you subpar -”

Before she could attempt to do whatever came to mind first, be that hurling a ball of raw magic at him, or tossing a book in his direction, she noted a smirk on his face as she advanced towards him, then, another voice shouted behind her, “Young lady, threats and acts of violence are strictly prohibited in the sanctity of this wing of the castle.”

Oriana stopped. 

The smugness radiating from the man in front of her, whose name she hadn’t even bothered to learn, soured the expression on her face further. 

Inhaling, she turned on her heel and met the steely gaze coming from George, who was stood in the doorway. She had been so angry, she hadn’t even heard it open.

He stepped further into the room, then gestured with one of his hands towards the door to his right, whilst saying, “You may leave, now.”

Before she could though, Oriana had to ask, “May I come back, again?”

“Not today,” he stated, firmly. 

She threw a glare behind her, then swiftly exited, lest she exhaust what little good will she might have with either the gods or the librarian himself. 

Once her angry strides had carried her far from the library, Oriana realized she was in no state to be amongst people, whether she was seated with the knights or not. So, she walked to her quarters, with the hope that putting space between her and anyone else who might ask her for attention, might help. 

After splashing her face with fresh water from the bowl near her mirror, and toweling it off, she laid down on her bed and stared up at the ceiling. 

She cursed herself internally for having let that inconsequential man get to her, because as a result, she would not be able to watch the magic users or prepare for the tournament the next day in the way she knew how. While in the moment, it had felt like the right thing, she knew that even if she had landed a punch, the only person she had truly hurt was herself. 

Oriana slapped the bed in frustration with both hands, whilst letting out a loud groan to compliment the motions. She might have continued doing so, but a knock at her door stopped her. Quickly, she was on her feet again, not keen to keep whoever it was waiting. 

The door opened a few moments later to reveal a servant who was holding packages. 

“Delivery for Oriana of Escetir.”

Oriana moved aside to allow the man through, so he would not harm himself with the boxes that were stacked tall in his arms. 

Once he had set them down, she looked at him with confusion, and asked, “Do you know who sent these?”

“They arrived at the castle steps this morning, with your name on them, but no other. Each box has been inspected, and determined to be no threat to you or anyone else within our walls.”

Though she could not think of anyone who would do such a thing, she said, “Thank you for bringing them to me.”

“Of course. Is there anything else you require?”

That would take some getting used to, she had to admit.

“No, thank you.”

Once the door was shut behind him as he left, she went towards the packages, wondering what could possibly be in them. 

She lifted the lid of the first one to find a set of tunics; one red, one blue, and one purple. Picking up the top tunic, which happened to be the purple one, her eyes cut to the full length mirror, which was in the corner to the left of the door from her vantage point. Then, she stood up to walk over and hold it up in front of her body to look at it, properly. 

The quality was something that she had never had in clothing before. Her everyday garments she wore in Ealdor were never that well made, nor were her traveling clothes that Merlin had brought from his own journeys, either. It was the softest tunic she had ever had the privilege to hold. 

After fawning over it some more, she placed the tunic back into the box with the other two, only to find a few pairs of black breeches below them in the second box, which were clearly meant to be paired with the tunics. Again, they were better quality than anything Oriana had ever owned. She would do well to wear them when she fought in the tournament. 

Though she was a fighter and healer, first and foremost, where practicality took precedence, it had not escaped her notice how plain she had looked yesterday, amongst the rest of the competitors. Whether they were a commoner or not, every single one of them seemed to have scrounged up some sort of way to purchase at least one article of clothing that made their appearance less drab, and more tournament worthy. Given that she had shown up with no money, she had thought it impossible for her to do the same.

In the third box, she discovered a dress, which was easily even more beautiful than the clothes she had found in the other two packages. It was golden and bright as she imagined the sun to be, with intricate beading and lacing. When she held it up to the mirror, her blue eyes went wide. 

“Where on earth will I use something like this?”

Regardless of whether it was practical, she loved it.

After twirling around with it in the mirror, she carefully placed it back in its box, as well.

Then, she looked into the fourth and final box, which was a great deal smaller than the others containing the clothing, only to discover where a pair of shoes to match her dress were held. She plucked them out, tossed off her boots, and tried them on, only to find that they fit her perfectly. 

This, more than anything, gave her pause.

Oriana knew few people in Camelot, but she doubted that either Brenna, Mordred, or even Sir Gwaine had sent her the gifts in question. Brigit was aware of her escapade, as was her grandmother Hunith, but neither had much money to spare for such finery. For it to make it to her room in Camelot, and all fit her, it would need to be someone present, she believed. Likewise, the dyes alone that had created the vibrant colors must have cost someone a decent sum. 

Who on earth had been close enough to her during her short stint in Camelot thus far who could have guessed her foot wear size, and from what it seemed, her garment sizes, as well?

However they had made their way to her though, she was grateful for them, all the same, even if the appearance of such timely garments did unsettle her a little. Had the servant not said they were addressed to her, she might have thought the delivery was made to her by mistake.

Once she was finished examining the exquisite shoes, she replaced them in their box. 

Oriana then took the time to fill her wardrobe with what had been delivered, so that they were less likely to be ruined. Given that their appearance was nothing short of a miracle, she wished to preserve their condition, even if she could hardly guess where they had come from, which did bother her still.

After she had completed that task, the realization came that there was too much pent up energy within her still to remain in her quarters, so she left. Once out in the corridor, she found herself wishing she could hit something, and hard. Given that the magic rounds were still happening, the likelihood of the practice field being full was relatively low, so she left the indoors with the intent to go find a practice dummy to use. 

On her way out of the castle, she never made it that far though, for she spied Mordred. 

At the sight of her, he walked over, and smiled.

“I didn’t even hear you coming. You’ve done well.”

“Were you waiting for me?”

Mordred nodded, then looked away, as he replied, “Yes, I thought you might like to sit with us again, today.”

The kindness it took for him to sit out multiple rounds already, was great, but she stood firm. 

“Unfortunately, I cannot.”

Mordred’s eyes found hers again. 

“Is everything alright?”

She hesitated, then said, “I might have managed to have myself thrown out of the library earlier this morning.”

Mordred raised an eyebrow at her. 

“Might have?”

She glanced away and said, whilst crossing her arms in front of her, “Some arse was having a go at me, and I took the bait. He’s in my bracket, I should have known better.”

Given that she had only known him for a few days, Oriana couldn’t guess how Mordred would react. When she found his eyes on her again, she saw a mischievous look appear.

Then he asked, “Were you as quick to consider drawing your sword on him, as you were with me a few nights ago?”

Oriana shook her head, then said, “No, but I might have, if the thought had occurred to me before the librarian barged in.”

Mordred shook his head.

“I can’t imagine that George was too pleased with you.”

“He was not.”

A familiar voice broke through their conversation, before either could take it further. 

Oriana turned to see Brenna stride up to them. 

“There you are. I saw you at breakfast. I would have sat with you, but-”

Before Oriana could stop her words, she cut Brenna off.

“It’s alright. After your fight yesterday, I imagine that will happen quite a lot.”

There was no malice in what Oriana said, but surety. Brenna had been no person short of admirers and those seeking a chance to sit with her earlier that morning, which was why Oriana had elected to seek out the library instead of conversing with the woman over breakfast.

“You fought well yesterday,” Mordred said from Oriana’s left side. 

“That’s a high compliment from a Knight of Camelot,” Brenna said, raising her eyebrows toward him. 

“One that is well deserved..”

“How’s your back?” Oriana asked, unable to wait for Brenna’s reply to Mordred.

“It’s healing. The court physician did his best yesterday, after I sought him out.”

Oriana made a mental note to pay the man a visit, later. 

If she were to stay in Camelot, eventually she would need some sort of job. Perhaps, the Court Physician might need an apprentice? It was a bit far-fetched, but she had no desire to leave Camelot after the tournament, especially with the knowledge that she would most likely not speak to Arthur of her own volition for some time. That was a problem for another day, though.

“Would you like me to look at it? I excel at healing magic.”

Brenna smiled. 

“If you’re up to the task, then yeah. Should my next opponent be anything like the one I faced yesterday, I’d rather not be favoring any injuries.”

“Let’s go then. I can take a look at it in one of our chambers.”

Oriana glanced back at Mordred, before she began to stride away, and said, “It was good seeing you again.”

“You as well.”

Brenna gave him a nod, then turned to Oriana. 

The two women walked together back to the castle, matching each other stride for stride, though their height difference was large. 

When they were well out of earshot of Mordred, Brenna looked to her again and asked, “Who was that man?”

Oriana glanced over at her, and said, “Sir Mordred.”

“Do you know him well?”

How did she explain being from a small village in a neighboring kingdom, but spending time with a Knight of one of the most powerful kingdoms in all of Albion?

“Not really. He knew my father, when he was younger.”

Brenna cocked her head to the side.

“Is your father from Camelot?”

Oriana shook her head.

“Not exactly. He lived here for a time, before I was born.”

“Oh. Well, that knight of yours is a handsome fellow.”

Oriana’s eyes widened. 

Brenna laughed, once she caught sight of the expression. 

“You can’t tell me you haven’t thought that. Have you seen him?”

Honestly, the thought had yet to cross her mind. She had been worried about more important things in her opinion, such as trying not to embarrass herself in front of the majority of the kingdom, or concealing her thoughts from those who might use them for ill intent. If Mordred was attractive, well, she would leave that to others to determine. She was simply grateful for his help, and tentative friendship, too. 

When she hadn’t replied, Brenna laughed, again. 

“Perhaps, now,” Brenna trailed off, then waggled her eyebrows suggestively, to compliment what she had said. 

The insinuation itself though, made Oriana infinitely more uncomfortable. 

“Please, stop. It’s not like that, and I have no plans to change that now, or ever.”

Oriana was not a child, but speaking of someone she hardly knew in such a manner made her ill at ease, regardless of who it was. 

The two women stepped into the castle, and began walking towards the competitors’ lodgings.

“Alright, no need to fret. I was only ribbing you.”

Oriana was grateful that they had not been around anyone who might have heard Brenna. The last thing Oriana needed was for court gossip to catch wind of what Brenna had insinuated, after all. 

The two finally made it to Brenna’s chamber, which was further within the castle than Oriana’s, not long after. How that happened, when Oriana had arrived later in the week than Brenna, she did not know. However, when they stepped in, she was grateful to be away from the crowds, and noise. 

One thing about growing up in Ealdor that she had taken for granted, was the silence. Camelot was by far the opposite of that. She had yet to see, but imagined that it was the same whether there was a tournament or not.

Once they were inside, with the door firmly shut behind them, Brenna removed her upper layers entirely, to reveal a deep and nasty gash. It seemed to have begun to close at the outer edges, but still looked gruesome enough that Oriana knew it would take a little while to heal at least, as it started from where the mace had grazed Brenna’s upper back, then continued down to just above her hips. From afar, the wound had not seemed to be as terrible, while being rendered, as it looked to Oriana then as she first saw it up close.

“Would you rather sit up or lie down?”

“What would make it easier?”

“I can heal it whichever way, but this will take some time, and it might be a bit painful, so if you would rather rest as I do it, that might be preferable.”

Contrary to popular public opinions, the art of healing magic was more complex than some liked to admit. The ability to harness or use it, did not mean that all pain would disappear immediately, but that it would with precision and the proper care. 

Oriana could heal Brenna’s wound, but in the process, she might feel some pain, as Oriana cleaned it and closed it up, with her magic. This sort of work required patience, which she was in short supply of in other areas, but here, that was an exception.

It had been a while since Oriana had needed this sort of magic, but she revelled in using it, as she felt the happiest when she was mending others. Fighting was all well and good; it protected her and those she cared about from harm. Likewise, she enjoyed that she had always been above average at it, which she credited no small part to Lancelot’s tutelage. However, healing was where she could cause someone to feel better, and she would rather know she was helping someone, than hurting them. Always, she felt like her interests were a delicate balance of opposites. However, she was both a fighter and a healer, and refused to compromise for others who only wished to see one side of her. 

“I’ll lie down.”

Oriana pushed the sleeves of her worn lilac tunic up, and waited for Brenna to settle herself. Once she had, with a whispered spell, Oriana directed the first portion of her endeavor towards cleaning the wound. 

Brenna grunted, and shifted a little. She remained silent after though, as she became accustomed to the feel of Oriana’s magic. 

The magic itself appeared from Oriana’s right hand in the form of a translucent gel that surrounded it, and allowed for what she needed to cling to it. The powers in question were seeking out any foreign matter, and then removing it, along with the dried salve that was still there from the day before. When she could confirm that all which did not belong had been taken out, she held up her hand and disintegrated what was attached with a simple spell. Then, she allowed the remnants of what she had conjured to recede.

Once the first part was complete, Oriana said, “This might hurt a bit more, but I promise it will help you once I’m finished.”

“Okay, go ahead.”

Oriana held out her right hand again, just above the wound, and began chanting the necessary spell. 

The words escaped her mouth in soft, lilting sounds that she sustained as skin began to form a scar where there had previously been a salve and a deep, open cut on Brenna’s left shoulder, moving down that side. Brenna shifted slightly under her work, making a few noises that denoted her discomfort, but otherwise remained an excellent charge. 

After what felt like many candle marks, Oriana completed her work. An exhaustion she had not previously felt beforehand was making itself known to her. She ignored it though, then pulled her sleeves back down, whilst saying, “All done. Feel free to take a look in the mirror.”

Brenna hopped up in a few quick movements, and Oriana stepped aside so she could do just that

“Wow, you’re brilliant. The scarring is hardly visible.”

Oriana beamed. 

“As I said, I do excel at the healing arts.”

Brenna marveled at what Oriana had done for a moment more, then slipped on the rest of her clothes again. As she did, Oriana had looked at the floor, waiting for her to finish. 

Unlike her newly acquired skill that she was still working on, Oriana had been healing people for a good while. Merlin did so because it had been necessary, but of all that she had ever learned, Oriana loved the art of healing the most. Her father was passable and had taught her what he could, but most of it she had learnt in the moment, as she applied what she had read over in books when a situation required that. Of course, there was no substitute for practical application, after all. 

At one time, she had thought that perhaps the only reason some villagers tolerated her was because she was the one who they knew could cure them of a sickness, or mend a child’s broken bone, without any residual pain. In any case, it brought her more joy than anything, to use her magic as a force of good in that manner.

Once Brenna was fully clothed, she came to stand in front of Oriana, and said, “Thank you, for healing me.”

Oriana glanced up and met Brenna’s gaze. 

“Of course. Should you need that again, let me know.”

Brenna pursed her lips.

“Do you realize that having a good healer at my side could be the difference in how I fare in the tournament? These fights are not for the faint of heart, and many incur wounds far worse than mine from a single round.”

Oriana shrugged.

“Everyone has access to the Court Physician.”

Brenna grimaced, slightly.

“Which is all well and good, but his methods are slower, verging out outdated, even. If you had not used your magic, I would have entered my next match still in pain. That could have harmed my chances at winning.”

“I’m glad I could help, then.”

“Unless you go around healing everyone in this tournament, it’s hardly fair.”

Oriana hadn’t thought of it that way. 

“I could, but -”

“No, no it’s alright. I wasn’t suggesting you had to, or that you should. What you did was nothing short of amazing, though. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, of course.”

Brenna looked at her for a moment, before she said, “I’ll be going out soon to the temporary druid encampment for food, drinks, and dancing. Do you want to come?”

The Druids; all of whom were magic users in some capacity, that Oriana knew of. If she drank, her guard would be down, and given her tenuous relationship with what she was able to do within her mind, it was best to avoid situations such as that. Perhaps, she could just go for a bit of food and dancing? After all, it would be a great way to let off some steam, even if she did not know how to properly dance. Ealdor wasn’t exactly known for balls, or festivals.

“When?”

“Tonight.”

Though Oriana was hesitant to say yes, she was grateful for the invitation all the same. So much of her thoughts had revolved around particular subjects, up to that moment, and the need to let her hair down, so to speak, made itself known once given an opportunity to do so. 

She ached inside, for what seemed to be a shred of normalcy. Though she had not done it often in Ealdor, if she were in Camelot for the fighting alone, she would have said yes without hesitation. That drove the point home that perhaps, at least for a night, she needed to act as if she were just another entrant to the tournament.

“Okay.”

“Great. Let’s meet outside of the Great Hall at the start of the evening meal, then walk down there.”

“I’ll be there.”

* * *

Oriana spotted Brenna immediately, outside of the Great Hall. Unlike when Oriana had left her chamber, she was not alone, though. Someone had an arm wrapped around her waist, and was whispering something in her ear when Oriana walked up to them. 

When Brenna saw her, Oriana raised an eyebrow. 

Brenna smiled, then gestured to the person beside her. Oriana was unsure whether to consider the person a man or a woman, so she did not, until she knew for sure which one was an apt descriptor. 

“Oriana, this is my partner, Naro. Naro, this is my new friend, Oriana.”

Naro had dark skin, like Brenna, but unlike her, had a bald head. Their eyes were brown, too, from what Oriana could see. While she had easily read Brenna as more of a friendly, open sort, Naro in contrast seemed to be reserved.

Briefly, she considered the word partner, before she smiled in response to the introduction, because even in her confusion, she had noticed Brenna referring to her as a friend. 

“It’s nice to meet you,” Oriana said.

She had heard nothing about this Naro, but still, gave nothing away.

Naro quietly said, “You as well.”

Brenna looked between them then.

“Are we ready to leave now? My stomach is begging for something other than what we’ve been served here.”

Naro nodded, and Oriana said, “Let’s go then.”

At that, Naro broke away from Brenna and began walking ahead, leaving Oriana and Brenna to talk. Once Naro was well out of ear shot, Oriana turned to Brenna as they went down the stairs of the castle entrance, and asked, “Should I consider your partner a woman or a man?”

“Neither.”

Oriana was momentarily stunned, then asked, “If I wish to discuss Naro without that name?”

“Should you need to discuss them, or refer to them, this is the way. Neither he nor she is applicable, in regards to Naro.”

“I see, thank you.”

Then, “Why did Naro walk off?”

“They probably wished to scout the area, to see what’s there. In Nemeth, they are a Knight in Queen Mithian’s own retinue.”

This information took Oriana by surprise.

“How did you both meet?”

Brenna grimaced. 

“Their parents, who held seats of great import during Queen Mithian’s father’s reign, died when they were a child. They came to us for a time in their later adolescence, because my parents had been their parents’ dearest friends. We grew close and then fell in love over time.”

Though Oriana was saddened to hear about the deaths of Naro’s parents, she warmed at the thought of the rest of the story. 

“So, that talk about arranged marriage, is that why you were so keen to agree to it? Because if you were paired off, Naro could be first in line?”

“In my case, yes. Naro would be the obvious choice, for me. Their parents had amassed a decent foothold of power in the region we lived in, and left them enough for a proper dowry. If it came to that, they would be the one I would wish to marry. If that were not the case though, out of respect for my family, I would still wed whoever they might choose.”

The thought of an arranged marriage not based upon mutual love still irked Oriana, but she remained closed lipped about that, and asked instead, “Has Naro been here in Camelot the whole time you have?”

“Yes, but they are also competing, so we have had little time to be together.”

Given Oriana hadn’t known them before being introduced, likewise compounded by the fact that she had missed the magic bracket entirely, that explained a lot. 

“How did their first day go?”

Brenna shrugged, and said, “They swept the match. Did you not see?”

“No, I was waylaid, unfortunately.”

“By Sir Mordred?”

Oriana shook her head. 

“No, some arse in the library.”

The mention of him still made Oriana’s blood boil a bit, so she was grateful when they were at the start of the encampment at the city’s edge, where Naro had stopped to wait for them.

The sun had been setting when they had begun their walk. However, the night sky was now dark, except for the stars and pockets of light that were illuminating areas closer to the ground, thanks to the Druids. 

Naro glanced at both of them, then placed an arm around Brenna’s waist. 

“A fire was built to the center of the right side, and the musicians have already begun to play.”

Their voice was deep, and melodic.

“Are you hungry?”

She realized Brenna was talking to her, and then shook her head. 

Oriana was grateful she had fed herself before leaving. Otherwise, the scents around her would be much more enticing. 

“No, thank you. I ate in the Great Hall, before we left.”

“Why would you-”

Brenna began, but then Naro’s deep voice was whispering something unintelligible in Brenna’s ear, and she sobered up just a bit, after. 

“Right, well, Naro and I will seek out sustenance, if you wish to meet us at the campfire.”

Oriana agreed, then began walking around on her own. 

Most of the booths were still open, as the night was in full swing. She passed stalls that held intricately created jewelry, the likes that she had never seen. There were also some which held other specialty items, such as wood and stone carvings. Others were dedicated to food, and she passed those as quickly as she could, hoping to not let the hunger in her eyes become evident to those waiting for passersby to stop and purchase their wares.

Soon, she was on the outskirts of a large fire, where musicians were indeed set up, and the sounds of their instruments filtered through the air. Logs were placed around the massive fire, which were it not for what appeared to be magic, would have ravaged the area outside of it, were it set free. However, there were a few Druids she could see containing it, keeping it’s steady flames to only the size of a small dwelling, and nothing more. It spanned a large area though, so the heat would reach many. 

While it was autumn, and the days were steadily dropping in temperature, the nights were even worse. Oriana could only imagine how it was for the Druids who slept outside, while she had remained warm so far from the thick blankets and the fireplace she could light in her own room.

There were people dancing closer to the fire, who were not tending to it. Others, it seemed, held goblets of what she assumed to be alcohol. Though she had sipped small amounts while in Camelot, Oriana had never been one to seek it out. That much, at least, had not changed. 

She walked around, wending her way through the people, enjoying the lively tunes and dancing she was surrounded by. The energy of it all brought out a sense of glee in her, one she had rarely felt since arriving in Camelot. Soon, she was attempting to dance, and failing miserably, but didn’t care. It was a breath of fresh air from the stress she had felt as of late. 

The music continued, transitioning from one upbeat song to another, and she continued on, amongst the rest. She found herself learning a couples’ dance, and being twirled around by a woman smaller than herself, then a man much larger than she. Eventually, she removed herself from the fray when she spied Brenna and Naro again. 

“Having fun, are you?” Brenna asked.

Oriana nodded, as she caught her breath beside them. 

“Yes, thank you for inviting me.”

“Of course. You looked like you could use a bit of fun.”

Oriana glanced at her friend, who then held out some food to her. 

“I purchased more than either Naro or I could stomach. Would you like some?”

It was a bowl, holding some sort of pungent soup, no doubt containing many herbs in the broth alone that Oriana had never used or consumed before. 

She accepted it readily, unable to contain her hunger anymore after the dancing.

“Thank you!”

Brenna nodded, as Oriana tucked into it. Then, she grabbed Naro’s hand, and led them into the dancing, where Oriana lost the pair from her eyesight as she finished off what she had been given. Unsure of what to do with the bowl, she set it down beside a log, hoping to discard it when they were leaving. 

When she stood up again, she found an elder man looking at her with a strange look, but ignored him, as he was a bit unnerving. Instead, she set her eyes on a young woman, who was garbed in peasant clothes, but most likely was a Druid, beside her.

“Would you like to dance?”

The woman had fiery red hair, which was made even brighter against her ivory skin by the light of the fire. She was shorter than Oriana by a good bit, too. 

Oriana looked into her green eyes, then responded with, “Sure.”

She took the woman’s left hand in her right and led her out to where everyone else was moving their bodies in various styles. The pair began to dance in an unsynchronized sort of way, and the music became background to Oriana’s thoughts, which revolved around her trying not to make a fool of herself with her new companion. Earlier it hadn’t mattered to her all that much, but now someone had gone out of their way to ask, and she didn’t wish to make that person regret doing so. 

At one point though, she inevitably stepped on the other woman’s toes, while attempting a spin that had seemed easier beforehand. Soon, they were laughing because once that occurred, her abilities decreased even further, while she tried to remedy what she had done.

Clutching her sides, Oriana said, “I’m so sorry. I’ve never been taught how to properly dance.”

The woman smiled back at her indulgently.

“Neither have I.”

Oriana laughed again in spite of herself, then said, “Could have fooled me.”

The woman, whoever she was, was much more graceful than Oriana herself.

Once they had moved away from everyone else again, after receiving some irritated glares, the woman asked, “Would you like to share a drink with me?”

Oriana would have declined, were she the one solely meant to drink it, but agreed given that her companion would be drinking too. 

“Why not?”

The woman, who seemed rather shy now, reached down and grabbed Oriana’s left hand, then kissed the top off it. 

“I’ll be right back.”

Oriana smiled, feeling the butterflies in her stomach, then said, “Okay, -”

She trailed off, hoping she might at least receive a name. 

“Ryia. You?”

“Oriana.”

“Well, let me go grab our drink.”

As Ryia walked away, Oriana wrapped her arms around her stomach, as she tried to quell the excitement within her. She knew nothing could or would come of whatever was happening, but in the moment, she was still having a grand old time. 

Looking around, she found a log to be seated on. 

Soon, Ryia had returned, a cup in hand. 

“I already took a sip on the way here. Would you like one now?”

Oriana took it readily, as she was thoroughly parched from the food and the dancing after. 

After she gulped down a significant portion, she held it back at Ryia, who took it from her. 

“Thank you. I hadn’t had a thing to drink since before I left the castle.”

“So, you live here, or -”

Ryia trailed off, as if she were waiting for Oriana to correct her.

“I’m here for the tournament.”

“That explains the sword at your hip.”

Oriana smiled. 

“It never leaves my side.”

Not wishing to discuss that any further though, Oriana turned to meet Ryia’s eyes, and asked, “What about you?”

“Well, I’m a Druid, so I traveled here for the tournament to help sell our wares.”

“Can you do magic?” Oriana asked.

“Yes, but my abilities are minimal compared to most.”

Oriana smiled. 

“That’s a shame.”

“What about you?”

“I have an affinity for both magic and swordsmanship,” Oriana said. 

Then, she took the cup from Ryia’s hands, and drank a bit more, before handing it back, with only a few drops to spare. 

Oriana turned away, her cheeks burning at the nervous energy she felt. 

When she glanced back, it was because Ryia had reached down and taken her hand again. 

“Would you like to take a walk?”

Before Oriana could respond, Brenna’s voice was behind her, and she turned to see both her friend and Naro, standing there. Brenna was smiling, clearly happy after a few rounds around the fire. Likewise, Naro was gazing at Brenna with a look that Oriana took to mean deep affection for her.

“You alright?”

“Yeah, Ryia here just asked me to go for a walk so -”

Brenna’s eyes lit up at the statement. 

Oriana watched her friend’s gaze flick to the woman on her right, appraising the newcomer. Somehow, she felt that Brenna would have further questions later. But, the woman withheld them, thankfully, and said a few moments later, “I see. Well, find us when you’re ready to walk back up to the castle, yeah?”

“Okay. Have fun!”

“You, too!

After rising to their feet, both Ryia and Oriana slipped away from the heat of the fire, and those enjoying it, to mill about amongst others who were walking the unmarked paths within the encampment. It was much less crowded the further they strode away from the revelry. Soon, a hush had descended around them, as their feet brought them to the edge of it all, the one furthest from Camelot’s entrance gate. 

Oriana felt less sure of herself then, but still, she pretended as if she knew what she was doing. That was her habit, after all. 

Her eyes found Ryia’s, who blushed when Oriana looked at her again. It painted her cheeks a bright rouge color, which endeared Oriana to her further. 

“So, here we are.”

Ryia reached out her left hand and slipped it within Oriana’s right, then glanced up at the stars, rather than reply to her statement. So, Oriana followed Ryia’s lead, enjoying the sight of them on the clear night above. 

While looking up, Oriana felt a slight head rush, then found herself needing to sit down, a bit later. After guiding Ryia away from where horses or people might need to pass through, they did just that. Her hand slipped out of Ryia’s soon, but she found that her head had fallen into Ryia’s lap. It was strangely intimate, but given that she felt worse by the second, Oriana allowed it. 

Soon, there were thin, nimble fingers stroking her hair, brushing it out of her eyes, and pressing into her forehead. The pounding of her ears that had minutes before been a dull ache, became a roar. Oriana clutched her head on either side in response, and began to shout, because it hurt. 

Above it all, she thought she heard Ryia speak, and perhaps another voice too eventually, but it was all too much at once. It hurt, more than anything she had ever physically endured before, and it took everything in her not to let her magic lash out, which she could feel bubbling to the surface within her. 

The cacophony continued, as she writhed on the ground. 

Whether Ryia was still around, Oriana was unsure. What she knew though, was that she could hear new voices which lent themselves to masculine timbres. A cry rent the night at some point near her after that, but she was puking by then, as what she experienced was all too much for her alone. 

Eventually, she heard a voice familiar to her; Brenna’s. Then, her body was being lifted up. Everything was blurring together, but somehow, after what felt like forever, the ground beneath her became more firm, and she discerned they were close to the castle itself. 

Oriana forced her eyes to crack open a sliver right as Brenna paused at the steps at the front entrance. She turned her head to see that Naro was on the other side of her, and they did as well. That was all she could handle, before she closed her eyes again. 

New voices spoke around her after, and one that Oriana vaguely wondered why it was distantly familiar, appeared. Then, another tore through the haze her mind was in. 

“ _What happened?”_

She was slow to reply, but managed to say, _“Mordred?”_

_“Will you be okay?”_

_“No, please help me. My mind, something’s wrong, and Brenna won’t understand. Please.”_

Before she could receive a response, she felt herself lose more of whatever was still in her stomach. 

A shout sounded out in front of her, and she clutched her head again. 

“Dammit.” 

Soon, there were new arms holding her, ones much larger around than Brenna’s. She leaned into the touch, as she felt her energy depleting further.

“It’s alright, Sire. I’ll take care of her.”

Oriana recognized Mordred’s voice. Pressed against him as he spoke, she felt the vibrations of his chest, as he did.

“See to it that you do.”

She shivered at the demanding tone, then felt tears spring to her eyes before she could help it. 

“Oriana, is that okay? Do you wish to go with him?”

That was Brenna’s voice. 

She searched for the energy to reply aloud. 

So much was happening in her brain, more than usual, and Oriana was vaguely aware that she may or may not have just hurled onto the King of Camelot, if the anger and shouting was anything to go by. She couldn’t be bothered to think about that, though, right then.

Fighting through it all, she managed to respond aloud. 

“Yes, it’s okay.”

That was all she had the ability to say at that time, as everything hurt in some capacity. 

_“May I carry you into the castle?”_

_“Please.”_

Soon, she was lifted into Mordred’s arms, and carried through the corridors. 

Eventually, she felt herself being placed onto a bed. 

When she opened her eyes again, she could see Mordred’s blue ones scrutinizing her. 

_“May I use my magic to help heal you?”_

_“Yes.”_

Oriana closed her eyes when she felt Mordred’s left hand slip under her head carefully, lifting it so that he could do whatever it was he meant to. A small part of her knew she was taking a great leap of faith, allowing him to aid her in that way, but she hurt so much that she felt it could only get better from there. She could only hope at that time that he knew what he was doing.

A warmth spread through her, and she heard him using spells that she herself could not understand. It was magic unknown to her, but it did not feel unsafe, as he continued to speak. After a while, he stopped, and she did feel better, though not nearly well enough to do much more than remain as she was. 

A few moments later there was a towel being wiped across her face, and she was given sips of cold water, too. 

Not long after, she was vomiting again, but this time into a bucket that appeared below her before anything she expelled hit the floor. Once that was done, she laid back, slowly.

_“May I remove your sword?”_

_“Yes, but leave it in my reach.”_

_“Of course.”_

There was much silence after, as he tried to help her regain at least a small modicum of her strength. The knight tended to her every time she cracked her eyes open; holding her hair back when she lost more of the contents of her stomach, wiping her face to remove sweat and cool her off, helping her with necessary tasks like drinking, amongst other things. It was more than she could have asked for, and a distant part of her was embarrassed that a near virtual stranger was tending to her in such a manner. Still, she was grateful, all the same.

At some point later in the night, she heard another voice speaking to Mordred, after a door had opened, somewhere. 

Not long after, Mordred said, _“I’ve been given some medicine that might help you, by the Court Physician. Would you like to take it?”_

_“Okay.”_

For a brief moment, she opened her eyes, and forced herself to grasp onto the bottle he held out to her. Mordred allowed her to take it from his hand, once he had unstopped it. 

A vague sort of irritation filled Oriana at that, but was quickly forgotten when her hand shook so much that she was unable to drink it on her own. 

Soon, a hand larger than hers enclosed hers, then helped guide the bottle to her lips. She gulped the bitter tasting liquid down, then allowed Mordred to take the container from her before she could lose her grip on it enough that it could fall and shatter on the floor.

After, she let her head fall back onto the pillow beneath it, and again, she fell into a restless sleep.

When Oriana woke next, she could only imagine it was hours later, as she felt decent enough to open her eyes and even attempt to speak out loud. 

“Where am I?” she croaked out.

Mordred looked up from the chair he was seated in by a fire. From what Oriana could determine, he must have been dosing moments before, because he wiped his face over with his hand once or twice, before responding with, “My quarters.”

Her eyes briefly scanned the room, noting the bareness of it all, then returned to Mordred, again.

“Oh.”

“Do you have the strength to tell me what happened?”

Oriana moved to push herself into a seated position, even waving him away as Mordred had leapt to his feet, no doubt intent on helping her. 

Once she had done so, she said, “Maybe.”

Oriana then inhaled and exhaled in an attempt to steady her thoughts. 

Her mind was still everywhere, and she knew that her defences were down. That alone was why a small, but more shrewd, part of her had subconsciously permitted herself to all but beg that Mordred be the one to care for her. He would know if she was allowing pertinent information to escape, after all. Given whatever had happened, she had no doubt that at some point, she had. What had been let loose though, she could only guess, as she had yet to ask.

After ladling some water into her mouth from the pitcher on the nightstand beside her, she said, “I went down to the temporary Druid encampment with Brenna and her partner. They were off dancing, and a woman about my age came up to me, asking me to dance. After, we shared a drink, then we took a walk. Not long after we had made it to the edge of the encampment, I was on the ground, clutching my head, and everything hurt.”

Mordred grimaced, then asked, “Was the drink the only thing you accepted from someone else while you were there?”

Oriana thought, then remembered the soup. 

“Brenna gave me some soup, which I ate. Why?”

Mordred shifted in his chair. As he was, Oriana could see the blatant sincerity and concern in his eyes and facial features when he said, “I believe you were poisoned.”

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so the direction this chapter took changed drastically once I consulted and revised my notes and outline. I had a whole other chapter written, but then rewrote and/or rearranged everything to reflect the new path I've decided to take with this current timeline area. It's not too dissimilar, but certain events have been moved around, etc. to make the whole plot work better, etc. I've got outlines and notes for days, but given how far I've written in a non linear order ahead, some of these earlier chapters deserve a second glance before I post, to make sure they're cohesive with the events of later. 
> 
> Anyways, enough of my rambling. I hope that if you've read this massive addition, that you enjoyed at least even one part of it. I, myself at least, am having a lot of fun writing this. Also, I know for a fact that the next chapter is much smaller in length, so there's also that. I make no promises, but hope to have that up next Friday, if possible.
> 
> I hope whoever happens to read this, has a great day and an excellent weekend, etc.!
> 
> Ps. I do have a question, regarding formatting. In older fics I've written, I do remember formatting more MLA style, but I've come across various ones on AO3. Is the way I have the chapters now easier to read, or would the more MLA style work better, out of curiosity? Thanks in advance, if you're willing to give feed back!
> 
> Also, P.P.S. My current alpha/beta readers are busy, so all mistakes, etc. are my own.


	8. Chapter 8

“Poisoned?” Oriana echoed. 

Her mind was all jumbled still, and there was a dull ache making itself known at the back of her head, so she had to be sure she had heard him correctly.

“Yes. With you accepting both food and drink from two separate sources in such a small time frame though, it’s hard to know which was the cause.”

Mordred sighed. 

The sound drew Oriana’s attention to him, where he still sat in the chair by the hearth. He had yet to change from his knightly regalia, and his fingers were laced where they rested on his stomach, whereas his legs were stretched out in front of him, and crossed at the ankles in his creased black boots. What stood out to her though, were the dark circles under his eyes, which had purpled, most likely from lack of sleep. Oriana could only guess how long she had been sick and in his care. 

Suddenly, a few thoughts occurred to her - both of which she did not hesitate to voice aloud, in the hope that she might receive favorable responses.

“Have I missed my first match? How long have I been here?”

There was an elongated silence, so she said, “Well?”

Mordred raised an eyebrow, then said, “I brought you here only last night. However, we are approaching midday, so if your match was an early one, then you’ve missed it.”

Oriana let out a shaky breath. 

“Thankfully,” she started, and began to push herself up further, “it is set to be one of the last today.”

Mordred glanced back at her, his face bordering on incredulous from what she could glean. However, it quickly morphed into an easily discernible, but resigned sort of look. 

“You truly are your father’s daughter.”

He sighed, again, but more heavily than the previous time.

Oriana wasn’t sure whether what he said was a compliment or not. She had little time to consider that though, because he spoke again.

“You do realize the gravity of what has happened?”

Rather than respond immediately, Oriana took great lengths to stand, which required more time than it would have any other day. She had managed to do it alone though, which she was grateful for. Mordred had done more than enough for her, in her opinion. The state of his facial features said as much. 

Once on her feet, she carefully moved, assessing the strength of her body, whilst taking stock of her weaknesses. Her energy was depleted, that much was certain. Her hands were slightly clammy, but not as much as they had been hours before. Her legs did not feel completely sturdy, but unlike her fingers, they were not as unreliable. Her stomach felt empty, but the thought of eating was not on her priority list at that moment, whatsoever. Her mind, well, it was her biggest worry, given how she and Mordred had met to begin with. 

With that thought at the forefront, she looked back to the man in question, and asked, “While I was sick, could you hear my thoughts?”

Mordred nodded, his face drawn back into his customary solemn features. Then he covered his face with both hands, and yawned, before he looked back at her with tired eyes.

“Was anything said that I should be worried about?”

“There was next to nothing I heard that has not been said before.”

That statement did not give any sort of solace to Oriana, of course.

“What about now?”

She knew then that the wilds of her mind had been released while her body had struggled, but since she had woken up again, Oriana had done her best to tame them, she thought. However, a good portion of her facilities had also been used to help her do that which otherwise should have been as effortless as breathing. Right then, though, she focused and began to overlay her thoughts further, as she had managed to passably do the previous few days, since she had learned how. 

_"I can hear your attempts to disguise what you’re thinking, as well as what is behind that.”_

It was Oriana’s turn to sigh, which she did, in a long and dramatic fashion. 

As she did, Mordred rose to his feet, then walked to where he was standing in front of her. He left an arms length between them, though, which she was silently thankful for. Unlike the arse from the library, he at least respected boundaries.

“I understand this tournament is important to you, but given what’s happened, do you think it wise to put yourself into a more vulnerable position?”

She grimaced, then said in a biting tone, “You might have heard my thoughts and know my parentage, but you don’t know me. I have to do this.”

He was silent as he looked down at her, but a grimace of his own did appear a bit after her assertion.

Meanwhile, she was silently fuming. How dare he presume to know what she was capable of? Briefly, she wished she had drawn her sword on him that night, so perhaps he might know her mettle. 

In the wake of an indiscernible amount of time passing, Mordred held up his hands, and said, “Okay, but should you die, I better have it in writing before you leave my quarters that this was your choice, so Merlin at least does not wish to murder me one day.”

Oriana took one peek at Mordred’s serious face and for no single reason at all, she began to laugh in a sort of way that shook her whole body, to the point she was holding her sides a little while after she had begun. Once she had gone on for some time, she hazarded another glance up to find that Mordred did not share in her good humor. His face looked as ice might; chilled throughout. That sobered her up rather quickly. 

Once she had recovered enough to speak, she said, “You’re actually serious, aren’t you?”

Mordred nodded, but did not speak out loud. 

She drew herself up to her full height, which was only a few hairs shorter than Mordred, and fixed him with a piercing gaze. Gone was her anger, though.

“Look, Mordred, I know nothing of your history with my father, but he should not blame you for a choice I made, whether I’ve stated that on parchment or not.”

She paused, seeking to further catch her breath, then looked back up at him. He did not seem to be moved by that statement, either.

So, she sought to make him understand another way.

“You spent all night keeping me well so I could what after?”

“Survive,” he said.

She lapsed into silence once more, then reached out tentatively, and placed her right hand on his left upper forearm.

“Life is not simply about surviving, but taking chances. I came here to do just that, for better or worse.”

Mordred closed his eyes for a moment. 

In the silence, Oriana thought that regardless of what he said, she would still go. She did not need his approval to do so, nor was she seeking it. However, she hoped that somehow she would be able to make him understand why she sought to do this, even when logic said she should not.

Though she may have come to see Arthur, the tournament was a way for her to prove herself, outside of the bounds of who she shared a familial connection with. She may have been taught and raised by Merlin and Lancelot, but it was up to her to show others that their tutelage had not been all for naught. Regardless of what a person had learnt, it was how they applied it that mattered. If she were to give up before she even started, then what did that say about her?

When his blue irises were visible to Oriana again, he replied with a soft, “Okay.”

She allowed her hand to fall away from him, then turned around, and set her eyes on her sword. 

“Now, I have a match to get ready for.”

Given her slowed movements, it took her a bit more time to strap on her sword belt, but she did, still. 

Before she could think to do anything else though, she heard Mordred ask, “Should you wear what you did yesterday?”

Oriana glanced up to see that Mordred was across the room to her left, and turned away from her, as he looked into his own wardrobe. 

Regardless, he was correct. 

Her clothes were sweat stained, and smelled of odors she did not wish to carry down with her to the pitch. Walking to her chamber though would be strenuous, given that she could feel how limited her energy was, even if she had managed to remain on her feet for so long, thus far. 

Mordred turned to her after a few moments, holding a white tunic up in his hands. 

“I couldn’t possibly-”

Mordred cut her off, and said, “It is this, or I go rifle through your wardrobe for you, because you are not fit to leave here until your match, as you are.”

Loathe as Oriana was to admit it, he was right, yet again. She had acknowledged as much moments before. Whether he had heard her, or that was his own assessment though, she could not be for sure without asking. 

She sighed, then walked forward and carefully took the proffered garment from him. 

Directly after, she said in an earnest manner, “Thank you for this, and everything you’ve done.”

Mordred waved a hand at her dismissively as he turned away again, clearly searching for something else in the contents of the wardrobe before him. Not long after, he turned and held out a pair of brown breeches which were no doubt much too large for her, but she took them gratefully still. 

“I meant it, Mordred. Were it not for you, I might not have lived to see today.”

He looked past her as he said, “I did what any decent person should have, and nothing more. Now, I’ll go stand outside so you can change. Let me know when you’ve finished.”

He left the chamber swiftly, shutting the door behind him right after. 

Oriana sat the breeches on the bed, then began to remove her lilac tunic with unsteady motions. It took her some time, but eventually she was in the fresh white tunic Mordred had given her. It was large in comparison to what she might normally wear, but it was not overwhelming, either. Both she and Mordred were tall individuals, so it worked for her, at least. After, she sat down and divested herself of her previous trousers, and then pulled on the new pair, which were again larger, but not to the point she worried that they might fall down as she walked. With a bit of magic even, she could make them fit better. 

After she had balled up her previous outfit and placed the bundle on the bed, she exhaled shakily, and sat down beside her clothes for a moment. She knew he was standing outside of the door, but she needed a second alone, before he entered again. The two hardly knew each other, but due to the circumstance, had been near one another for more time than she had been around anyone in the past few days since she had arrived in Camelot. 

Seated there in the calm, she took stock of how she felt, again. 

Standing and walking around had given Oriana more confidence, as she at least knew how her body moved in the aftermath of what had occurred. She was far from completely healed, though. That much was evident to her, given her slowed motions, and her shaky limbs. She was determined to fight through it all though, at least until she had won her first match. The time after that impending event seemed far away, though she knew it was much closer to her than the previous night was. 

Oriana shuddered involuntarily seconds later, remembering bits and pieces of what she had endured hours before. That Brenna might have been the cause hurt more than she felt it was appropriate, given they had only met days before. Still, she had thought that perhaps they might have been moving towards a solid friendship, if given the time. Ryia, however, was equally likely to have done it, and that thought hurt Oriana least, given that she knew very little of the woman. Still, it was nothing short of folly to place blame on either without proper evidence. However, whether she could obtain any, given how long it was since it had taken place, was suspect, at best. 

How was she to proceed around Brenna though? Oriana had managed to deceive Merlin back in Ealdor, but she knew she was not very subtle, otherwise. What if she walked right into a trap whilst trying to discern who had caused it? Likewise, she was aware that it was unwise to think about it all before she tread out to the stadium, but the barrage of questions were bothering her incessantly, even as she tried not to give them much attention.

Mordred’s voice broke through the web she had been attempting to untangle in her mind, before she could think on it all further.

_“Oriana?”_

_“Yes?”_

_“Given how I left last night, I’ll need to report to Sir Leon soon. If you wish to have more time to yourself, I can go to him now, then return after.”_

_“Okay.”_

Oriana heard boot steps as she laid back and groaned. So, her protections weren’t strong enough just yet. In the silence, she worked to reinforce them, as she would need to if she meant to compete. Likewise, he could only assume that it was what Mordred had meant to point out in speaking to her that way, rather than knocking then opening the door to relay his message, instead.

Though she had done little more than a few basic tasks, her body seemed to exhale, the longer she laid there. Soon, her eyes were droopy, so she closed them to rest for a moment. The next thing she knew, Mordred’s voice was calling her name.

_“Oriana!”_

For a moment, she thought the voice was part of a dream. Then, he said her name out loud, and she bolted up. The motion hurt, given the pain still in every fiber of her being. Still, she forced her eyes open to see Mordred standing there, looking more worried. 

“What is it?” 

“Your match!”

“Shit!” she managed, then grabbed her boots, and shoved them on. 

Mordred helped her to stand by offering her a hand that she readily took, as she surmised he had most likely done it to help her save strength for what she was about to do. As Brenna had said, after all, the fights were not for the faint of heart. It was but a small thing that in the grand scheme of it all Oriana appreciated.

Much later, she would need to figure out how to thank him, but for right then, she needed to hone in on what fortitude she did have, and hope that it would see her through.

With that thought tucked back for later, Oriana inhaled and exhaled a few times, then tied her hair back into a bun with a stray purple ribbon and some magic. 

After a brief, “Wish me luck,” was hurled out, Oriana ran out the door as quickly as her body would allow.

Every muscle, joint, synapse, and every other part of her, screamed in protest as she flew down the corridors around other unsuspecting individuals, and out the door of the castle. They continued to make their displeasure known, and it took all of the gumption in her not to double over and cry out from the pain, but she forced herself not to. 

When she reached the stadium, she could hear her name being called. 

Quickly, she rushed into the arena, and found herself staring down her first opponent. She found a short, ruddy faced man with a dagger in his left hand, and his right hand free. She was easily taller than him by a whole sword’s length, but Oriana was aware she could not underestimate him by size alone. Given that he had a small weapon, she felt he would lean heavily on magic. Bringing a knife to a contest where all sorts of weapons were allowed would be inadvisable if he did not have another means to fight back. 

Her lungs were sharp as she respired, but she tried not to pay that any mind. Though she was in a great deal of pain, she had made it after all, which was nothing short of a miracle in and of itself. The task at hand then was to prove that she belonged there, despite what others, or even a small part of herself, might have thought. 

“You may begin,” the announcer stated, about a minute later.

The man before her gave a strange look, then disappeared right before her very eyes. 

Shocked, she stood there for a moment, before she felt the right side of her torso be stabbed. 

Oriana bent over, then reached for the knowledge she needed to wield her magic. 

Seconds later, she whispered a disillusionment spell that appeared a moment the last syllable of the incantation left her lips, in the form of thick, white fog. She hoped to cloak herself from his field of vision, long enough to regain her composure. 

After, she ran in any direction, hoping to distance herself from her opponent. The ring they were in was large, but given that she had arrived with hindrances, there was only so far she could physically move, without impeding herself further. The run to the stadium had already sapped some of her strength, and she could feel her body’s every ache and pain as she stopped further from where she had been before.

With her left hand, she reached over, and put pressure where she had been cut. The blood dripped through her fingers not long after, despite attempts to stop it. There was no time to heal it right then though, so she unsheathed her sword in an unsteady motion, and began to listen to the ground below her. 

Though she might not have been able to see her opponent, she could still hear him.

His footsteps were heavy and slow, which helped her to get closer to locating him. She was thankful that those seated above had remained mostly silent, as their fight continued. Concentrating amidst the circumstances was difficult enough without their added sounds to distort her ability to hear, even further.

Given that her breathing was heavy though, she knew that for his part, he would find her again. It was only a matter of time, she felt. Though she had tried to curb the noises she made, it was difficult, when her body was straining in the ways that she had asked of it. Her slowed movements too, she was aware, were detrimental to her right then, as well.

There was near silence amidst the dense fog, as she walked in a way that would silence most of her movements; ball of the foot then outer edges went down first, before the inner portion did. She stepped that way, praying the dirt below her boots would not crunch too much, as she did. 

Heavy bootsteps caught Oriana’s attention, so she halted so as to hear the sounds better.

Soon, she overheard his breathing beside her.

Without bothering to hesitate a second longer, Oriana forced her sword toward the sound, and sliced in the general direction. A grunt sounded out from the contact she had made, then she swung around and sliced into some other portion of his body, again. The noise that escaped him the second time became pronounced, so she walked closer. The sooner she could find him and make him yield, the better. Adrenaline alone was pushing her through, at that point.

Luck was not on her side, however, because somehow he had managed to leave her vicinity completely, even with the wounds she had inflicted upon him. Soon, she heard footsteps close to her, again. Before she could discern which way to move, she felt the dagger cut into her left torso. 

She cried out in response, in an anguished sort of way.

Pain wracked her body, and for a split second, she felt utter despair. 

Then, she dug deeper, and grasped for all of her strength, ignoring the doubts in her mind. 

When Oriana swung her sword, it was as quick as she could in the direction that she had felt the dagger come from. It was foolish to think that her opponent might still be there, but she had little left of herself to give. 

It was only when she heard a definitive shout and felt the blade make an impact, that she knew she had hit her mark. The sound of the dagger clattering to the ground was followed by her removing her sword. She then reached for the last reserve of strength she had in her to whip the wind up into a frenzy in the vicinity of her opponent. 

The gusts of wind must have caught him off guard, because she heard stumbling, and then felt as he fell to the earth beneath them. Seconds later, the fog around them cleared, and she saw her opponent on the ground, bleeding heavily from the deep gashes she had rendered into his skin. She was grateful, in that moment, that he had not seemed to have enough magic to maintain his subterfuge, and hurl any other sort of spells at her, or she would have easily lost.

Slowly, she walked forward, then held her sword above his throat.

“Do you yield?” 

Between breaths, he managed, “Yes.”

It was an ugly victory, but she would take it over losing in the first round.

Where the crowd had been murmuring before, they began to cheer in waves as they all became aware there was a clear winner. Her sides were still bleeding, but she held out a hand to the man, and helped him up. Others rushed over to him, most likely to help him leave the field, and clean up his wounds. Hers were not great, but he looked worse off.

As she sheathed her sword, Oriana found her gaze drawn to where King Arthur sat. 

Sir Leon was standing there to the right of the King’s chair. While both were clapping, not one of them sported a smile. She was close enough to see that, and part of her felt disheartened. She might have torn her gaze from them completely, but rather than glancing around the arena to soak in the sound of her victory before exiting the pitch, a figure creeping up on the King’s left side gave her pause. 

A man in a ratty worn cloak stepped up beside the King, and before either the King or Sir Leon reacted, he was thrusting a blade toward Arthur’s heart. 

Once realizing what the man meant to happen, Oriana shouted a spell, which brought the almost murder weapon clattering to the ground beside her feet.

The use of her magic was unfortunate though, because without realizing it, she had used more than she should have. That became apparent to Oriana as her eyes began to shut. Whilst they did though, she saw Sir Leon rush the would be assassin, and Arthur turning to the scuffle. By the time her body hit the ground, various people had begun screaming at the sight of her fainting before them. 

* * *

The sound of hushed voices was the first thing Oriana heard when she opened her eyes again. Wherever she had been taken was unfamiliar to her, but it seemed as if it were made out of the same material that the rest of Camelot’s castle had been, so that put her at ease a little. 

Oriana heaved herself up to a seated position to discover that she was in fact surrounded by people; some she knew of, while others she did not. 

Sir Gwaine and Sir Leon stood beside another man in knight’s regalia, who was larger than she thought any one person had the right to be. His hair was short, and like Sir Leon’s and Gwaine’s was greying slightly throughout it. She vaguely wondered if that came with the territory of knighthood, or if it was owing to their close proximity to Arthur Pendragon that had done that to them. 

A cough occurred out loud, and she found her eyes seeking the source. 

Oriana discovered Mordred, whose features were drawn into a slight smile, directed at her. 

She ignored the implication of that for the moment, given she felt like death warmed over. The former problem, she might have given more thought to, were she not curious as to who all had come to her bedside.

Mordred, she noted, was stood with the other tall knight, whom she did not know, on his right. Then, to Mordred’s left there were two women who were murmuring very close. His body was angled slightly towards them, as if he had been in conversation with the pair, before Oriana had sat up. 

One of the women had long brown curly hair and brown skin much lighter than Brenna’s. The other woman beside her had hair not unlike a raven’s, which matched the shade of Oriana’s, as well as, pale skin. Something about that woman seemed familiar, but she had no time to dissect that further, as seconds later a voice brought her attention to a much older man on her right side, who said, “Oh, good, you’re awake.”

He hobbled forward from where he had stood up from what looked like a medicinal workbench, and she watched as he drew himself to the edge of her bedside closest to where he had been standing minutes before. 

“May I check your wounds? You’ve been out for some time, young lady.”

The man’s mobility was sluggish and his hair was snow white. His pale skin sagged in more places than she cared to know about, she surmised.

“Are you Camelot’s court physician?”

The elder man nodded, and said, “That would be me.”

“Then yes, you may.”

He reached forward with his gnarled hands that time had weathered. They were steady though aged. She watched as he carefully only lifted enough of her blood and dirt stained white tunic to make the wounds she had incurred visible to him. As he did so, she vaguely thought that some day, she owed Mordred a new white tunic and breeches.

What she saw once the court physician had revealed her sides shocked her; somehow he had managed to crudely patch them up in the time that she had been sleeping, with needle and thread, amongst what she assumed were other methods, too.

Oriana heard more bootsteps enter into the room, but she couldn’t be bothered to care once she saw that, as she was not a heavy sleeper. For that to have happened, she must have been worse for the wear than she realized. 

Then again, she had fainted, so she supposed that could have been part of the problem. 

“How long have I been out?”

The physician glanced up at her after he seemed satisfied with what he had seen on each side, and said, “A few hours, nothing more.”

Oriana exhaled heavily in relief. 

“I’ve been told by Sir Mordred here though, that you are the one he and I were treating for poisoning last night?”

Oriana didn’t bother to look at Mordred; she simply nodded in confirmation. 

At this, the man’s voice, which had been rather soft, amplified. 

“My dear girl, what on earth were you thinking charging into a tournament directly after that? Do you have any idea what could have happened to you?”

Oriana stiffened. 

While she could acknowledge it had been foolhardy, she was still alive, was she not? 

“I didn’t come to compete in a tournament, only to voluntarily remove myself from the first round.”

The physician scoffed.

Before either of them could speak further, a stern voice spoke up from beside her.

“Everyone has limits, Oriana.”

Heavy steps caught the attention of her ears, and then she was faced seconds later with none other than the King of Camelot. 

Arthur glanced at her, then flicked his gaze to the Court Physician. 

“However, Gaius, try not to be too hard on her, as this young woman is the reason I’m alive still.”

The name caught Oriana’s attention immediately. So, he was her grandmother’s brother. Given how many years had passed, she was uncertain that Gaius would have still indeed been there. Judging by his age though, the fleeting thought that he was not long for the world passed through, before she focused again on Arthur. 

Gaius made a comment, but it did not permeate Oriana’s subconscious, as she stared at Arthur for the first time, truly. 

The ghosts of laugh lines were etched into his face, which was the first thing she noticed. Next, were his bright blue eyes, which were shades lighter than Merlin’s own. His face was drawn into what she imagined was a serious expression, as he regarded her. Up close, his beard obscured a bit though, and given the conversation, she could only assume.

“Thank you for saving my life.”

The earnestness in the King’s tone and voice was expected, she supposed. He had lived when someone else had meant for him to die, after all. Still, it warmed her heart a little, if nothing else, because he was the one saying it.

“It was nothing,” she said, then looked away from him. 

It was all so much, the knowledge that he was there, right in front of her. She had imagined a moment like this, but now it was there, and not at all how she had planned for it to go. Life, she had begun to learn, was chock full of unplanned surprises, though.

“Nonsense. What you’ve done is nothing short of courageous at the very least, and now I am indebted to you. So, if there’s anything I can do for you within reason, please do not hesitate to ask.”

Oriana grew more uncomfortable with the sudden pointed interest in her right then. Given that she had been subtly listening to the rest of her surroundings as she and Arthur spoke, she knew that no one else had left just yet, which meant that the conversation was in full view of all who had been there when she had woken up. This was not how she imagined her first real conversation with the King, not at all. 

While Sir Gwaine and Sir Mordred knew who she was, there were many beside them who did not. Was bringing that up now worth the risk? Would Arthur even care? 

Though Oriana had entered the tournament for herself, she would be lying if she said that a miniscule part of her hadn’t hoped to win so that speaking to Arthur might have been easier for her. As it was right then, she felt she had nothing to show for, save for the one match she had won. Was that enough for her to feel comfortable claiming to be his daughter? Part of her said yes, while another part of her was terrified of how he would react, regardless of those who swore him to be of a decent sort.

She forced herself to look up at him again, with all of that in mind, and then said, “While I appreciate the sentiment, I need nothing from you. That you are alive is more than enough for me.”

Her words were stiff, and perhaps far too informal, but how else was she to respond? She’d hardly spoken to royalty at length outside of Mithian, who had been a young woman at the time, tasked with watching her, while their fathers spoke. Outside of that, the palaces she had visited did not include lessons on conversing with the reigning monarchs; only how not to offend anyone. Informality, Merlin had advised, was excusable, if she were kind with her words and deeds.

Oriana watched as Arthur’s eyebrows knitted, and his forehead had crease lines that deepened as he stood there before her. 

“You’re certain?”

Oriana nodded. 

Given the circumstance, the sooner Arthur left her side the better.

There was silence, then Arthur said, “Well, should you change your mind, the offer stands.”

Arthur moved out of her line of sight after, and began to speak with the Knights behind her. As he did though, she couldn’t hone in on what was being said, because her mind was racing. 

She thought she had made the right choice, but her heart began to thump, and her thoughts were everywhere; they screamed at her to call out to him, to beckon him back, and tell him the truth, everyone else present be damned. 

Oriana considered the idea; at least then, if Arthur reacted badly, there would be witnesses. Still, she hesitated to speak, for fear of ruining what little she had done for herself so far in Camelot. Were he to react badly enough, she might just leave the damn kingdom as her father had, once she finished the tournament. 

For a moment, Oriana found her eyes flitting to Mordred who was looking towards the other two women. Before she could look away, his eyes found hers, and for a moment, she wondered what he would think of her plan. 

_"I’ve been able to hear you since you woke up, Oriana.”_

Oriana grimaced, but then turned away from him and the searching stares that the woman with the raven hair beside him was throwing her. Whoever she was, she was clearly close to Mordred. That, of course, mattered little to Oriana, as he was still yet a stranger; the observation was more of a fleeting observation, and the stares were unnerving, respectively.

With that thought in mind, she turned her back to everyone, to regain what little nerve she had in her. Swinging her legs over the edge of the cot had been awkward, but it felt necessary to her at that moment.

Then, she called out, “King Arthur?”

With her back faced away and her mind on fire so to speak, she was hardly sure if he was even there. She had rotated around before she could see whether he had still remained. Even so, she had said his name with the hope that he was. 

A few moments later, she heard, “Yes?”

Oriana inhaled then exhaled slowly, before she replied, “While I seek nothing monetarily or otherwise, I do wish for one thing.”

“What might that be?”  
  
“For you to tell me what happened between yourself and my father.”

There was an intake of breath from somewhere near her, but she didn’t bother to turn to see who it might have been. 

Oriana’s eyes were boring into Gaius’, who was looking at her intently from where he had gone to sit and work on what looked to be medicine. 

“Alright, that’s easy enough. Who is your father?”

Oriana inhaled and exhaled again, before she forced herself to say, “Merlin.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I know this is a day later than I had planned, but I had to rewrite this chapter three different times, which was more than I had planned to, originally.
> 
> Also, I hardly write fight scenes, etc. so please be kind in regards to that. I'm working on that ability now. Lol.
> 
> Anyways, either way, I hope whoever reads this, will enjoy it. If not, either way, I hope you all have an excellent night, day, etc.!


	9. Chapter 9

A few things occurred simultaneously; Gaius dropped one of the glass vials he had been holding in his hands which then shattered loudly, feet shuffled meanwhile gasps or indistinct curses rent the air, as Oriana found herself the subject of scrutiny once more, because Arthur had placed himself in front of her again, in a matter of mere seconds. 

“Where did you hear that name?” Arthur demanded, as he folded his arms across his chest.

She met his unrelenting gaze, refusing to look away then; there was a clear challenge in his stance. 

“As I said, Merlin is my father.”

If possible, the frown on the King’s face deepened, from what she could see.

“Did someone put you up to this?”

Oriana scoffed.

“Given your obvious disdain for hearing his name, if anyone did, then they’re lousy for it.”

Arthur’s eyes narrowed marginally, but then he spoke again, in a quick and clipped tone.

“You wield magic and fight with a sword.”

“Yes?”

Given the conversation, she hardly saw how that was relevant, but waited for him to enlighten her.

“If Merlin were your father, how on earth did you learn to fight like that, because I know for damn sure that when I knew him he couldn’t hold a sword long enough to save his life without magic.”

Though blistering, Oriana supposed what Arthur said could be true. Merlin relied on his magic while leaving most of the sword work to her and Lancelot both, respectively. He could use a crossbow well enough, and had learnt other weapons, but magic was still his primary defence, even then. She had thought it was just a preference, but then she realized in that moment that perhaps she had been wrong about him being a knight, after all.

Following her brief moment of introspection, she said, “Merlin’s friend Lancelot taught me.”

There were more noises behind Oriana that she heard, but still she ignored them in favor of the confrontation in front of her.

Arthur walked forward, allowing less room between them, as he leaned in close to her face. 

His eyes were something akin to fire as he glared at her. At that moment, Arthur reminded her of a coiled up snake, waiting to strike. Still, Oriana did not shrivel beneath his gaze. He was so close though, that she could feel his breath on her left cheek as he said the next words quietly. 

“I would think very carefully before you speak next. This is your one chance to admit to lying to me, before I throw you in the dungeon,  _ Oriana of Escetir _ .”

Each word was enunciated clearly, so Oriana could tell that there was unrestrained irritation behind the veneer he had maintained thus far. She had touched a pressure point, and it was obvious, given his reaction. Still, she would not be faulted for speaking the truth.

Rather than shrinking underneath the accusation, she glared at him from the cot she still sat on. Her heart beat quickly, and she knew that she was gliding on thin ice, but she had come this far, hadn’t she?

Seconds later, Oriana threw up her hands and exclaimed, “For fuck’s sake!”

When they began to fall, she mimicked him in crossing her own arms across her chest.

Following her exclamation, he backed up and returned to where he had stood moments before, a body’s length away. There was objection written in his features then, but she refused to allow him the chance to speak again, so she continued. 

“Lancelot and my grandmother Hunith are the people responsible for my awareness of Camelot, and you. Merlin refused to speak of either topic to me. Though, I can hardly imagine why now, given your reaction.”

Oriana bore her eyes into him, daring him to contradict her.

Whatever she said seemed to register with Arthur, because his eyes widened marginally after, then he turned to where Gaius sat. 

She tracked him, curious as to what he might say.

For his part, Gaius looked shaken, as if he had seen a spectre. His eyes were wide, and the glass that he had broken was still all over the table. Oriana would have moved to help him clean it up, were she not dealing with Arthur and the fall out from what she had said.

“Did you know about this, Gaius?”

The elder man shook his head.

“I did not, Sire. The news I’ve received from Merlin is scant, and leaves much to be desired, it seems.”

Gaius pursed his lips, flicked his gaze to Oriana, then away to elsewhere in the room. 

Her attention was called back to the King when he asked, “How old are you?”

Oriana imagined or hoped he understood, then. 

She lifted her head, and jutted her chin out a little as she said, “I’m 20 summers old.”

Arthur’s eyes closed for a moment. 

The silence around them was palpable.

Before he opened them again, the King asked softly, “You’re not here only for the tournament, are you, Oriana?”

It was only when Arthur did look at her, his eyes appearing more tired than she had seen them earlier, did she say, “No. That was only part of the reason I travelled here from Ealdor.”

He nodded, then exhaled heavily, before he said, “If you’re here, then is Merlin -”

Arthur trailed off, seeming unwilling to finish what he implied. 

Oriana exhaled then let her arms fall to either side of where she was seated, to brace herself on the cot, before she answered.

“As far as I’m aware, he and my grandmother are alive and well in Ealdor, still. I left him with a note, letting him know I would be leaving for a while, but I did not give him a definitive destination.”

Arthur’s eyes were on the floor by the time she had finished, but she knew he had been listening. 

She paused, then amended, “Although, he does have a penchant for coming and going, so odds are he may not be home anymore, either.”

Without her there, she had little doubt that Merlin had left again, as it seemed to her that she was more of the reason he returned each time with such frequency, than not. As she had grown older, for reasons she could only guess, he had become more worried and protective. Likewise, in the last few years, although he had never outright barred her from coming with him when he did leave, she could see how much it bothered him every time she had, so she stopped asking. Without her there, he was free to roam as he pleased, almost as if he did not have a daughter at all.

Arthur’s voice cut through her maudlin thoughts, and drew her attention back to him.

“And Lancelot?”

The expression she found was drawn; it was more guarded than mere moments ago. Oriana could only wonder why that was, because as far as she knew, Lancelot had only good things to say about Arthur. Then again, perhaps that had been him putting his best foot forward, knowing that she might not ever meet the man herself. Still, the thought of Lancelot saddened her, as it usually did. Grief did not expire as readily as some might wish, after all.

Her eyes fell for a moment, and she said quietly, “He died, a few years ago.”

Somewhere behind Oriana, there were a myriad of reactions to the tidings she bore, but still, she only had eyes for Arthur. 

The King’s eyes cut back up to hers.

“How?”

His question was pointed, and his eyes almost unbelieving. 

It made her heart sink, knowing she had to relay the answer in front of strangers. 

“I snuck off one night, a few winters past, to use my magic,” she began.

Arthur nodded, but said nothing more.

“Father, Lancelot, and my grandmother had warned me against my using magic of any sort in Ealdor all my life, other than for healing. The village was small, and with it being so close to Camelot, it had inherited the kingdom’s prejudices. So, they had me swear I would only use it when necessary or when one of them, preferably Merlin, could accompany me while I did.”

At the mention of Camelot, Arthur had looked pained. Oriana had continued though, recognizing she had his attention, still. 

“I was in between spells, when I realized that I had been surrounded by a troupe of bandits. Naively, I thought that I could fend them all off, as I carried both a sword and my magic, but there had been too many.”

She paused, tears then at the edges of her eyes, threatening to spill over if given further incentive to do so.

“Were it not for Lancelot, and eventually my father, I would have died, as well.”

It was a story that broke her every time she relayed it, and that one was no different.

Where before tears had pricked at the corners of her eyes, instead Oriana was weeping seconds after she managed to say the last few words. She still had nightmares about that night. While her experience had frightened her, any fear she had felt paled in comparison for her to the loss of one of her parents. 

Deep seated guilt pierced Oriana’s heart thoroughly as she sat there, awaiting Arthur’s judgement, while her tears continued to fall.

A sharp, strong voice cut through the silence not long after.

“Alright Arthur, that’s enough. Clearly, the girl is who she says she is.”

A few seconds later, another unfamiliar voice chimed in behind the first. 

“Arthur, there is one way to know if this young woman is Oriana.”

Oriana wiped her tears away and managed to cease crying as she watched Arthur look past her. His jaw line tightened perceptibly as did the rest of his facial features.

“You both knew?”

There was a poignant pause, then, “I did, but it was not my secret to tell.”

“Nor mine.”

Oriana turned to the two other women in the room, and found them both looking back at her, though the woman with the curly brown hair walked forward towards her seconds later.

Her brown eyes were kind, and bright from freshly shed tears; tear tracks were evident down her face. She did not look familiar to Oriana in the slightest, but still, the woman smiled at her softly, before she asked, “Oriana, may I see your sword for a moment?”

“My sword?”

“Yes. I’ll be but a moment with it, I promise.”

Oriana eyed her warily then.

“What will my sword prove to you?”

“Whether or not you are indeed Merlin and Lancelot’s daughter.”

Oriana gaped at the woman for a moment, but finally did as she was bid, if only because she had recognized Lancelot in the same way as she had Merlin. There were few people who knew what the former had been, and if only to honor his memory, Oriana unsheathed her sword for the woman. 

Once she had, Oriana carefully held it out for the stranger, who appraised it with the eye of someone who knew what they were looking for. The woman had hardly glanced at it before she turned to Arthur, who at that point was just past Oriana’s peripherals to her right. 

“I crafted this sword for Oriana about five years ago. Both Merlin and Lancelot came to me, saying that they needed a sword for their daughter, to present to her as a gift for her next birthday.”

Oriana knew that the woman had been speaking to Arthur, but she said shortly after, “So, you’re the one who made this. I always wondered where it had come from. They refused to say, though.”

The woman turned to Oriana and smiled again, then nodded. 

Oriana sheathed her sword, then found herself staring at the woman in awe, as she wondered who was this person that had known her parents? She had always been curious where her sword had originated from, but apparently as had become custom, all roads led back to Camelot.

“I did. My father was a blacksmith and I learnt the trade from him. It’s not often I have the time to use what he taught me anymore, so your sword was a chance to do so.”

Silence remained in the chamber, and questions reeled through Oriana’s mind.

“I hope you don’t mind my asking, but who are you?”

The woman stood up a bit straighter, and Oriana could see that whoever she was, the woman was one of status, regardless of the drab travelling clothes she wore right then. While her stature indicated nobility, her face was still warm, as she said, “To the kingdom of Camelot I am many things; one of their Queens, a wife, and a former peasant. However, you may call me Gwen.”

Gwen. Guinevere. Queen Guinevere. She was her aunt’s wife, which meant that the woman who had been standing beside Gwen, staring at Oriana for great lengths of time, was none other than Morgana herself.

Oriana’s eyes flicked behind Queen Guinevere to find that Morgana was still watching her, as she had been since Oriana had awoken. She briefly remembered Sir Gwaine mentioning Queen Guinevere as her aunt’s wife and Morgana herself; co-rulers of the kingdom with Arthur. Since that conversation, they had yet to come up again, so it was only fair that she had not remembered who they were until that very second. 

The woman in question smiled at her, then said, “I imagine you’ve not heard of me either; I’m Arthur’s sister, Morgana.”

Oriana stared for a moment at the woman who was meant to be her aunt and found an older likeness of herself scrutinizing her back. Though there were noticeable differences, the two women resembled each other more than Oriana had realized earlier. Had she not been so distracted, she might have noticed that Morgana might have been shorter, but they both were slight, though their hair and slenderness were hardly the only resemblances they shared.

“Oh, well, it’s a pleasure to meet you both. Your kingdom is lovely, from what I have seen.”

For lack of a better response a few moments later, Oriana sought Arthur out again.

He was standing there, his eyes flitting from her over to Morgana, when she turned her gaze back to him. He stopped after her eyes had been solely on him for longer than a few seconds, and the two contemplated the other for a moment, before he said, “Right then.”

Seconds later, the King strode out of the chamber, leaving all of the other occupants in his wake.

Oriana wilted visibly then, allowing herself to sag where she had not while Arthur was there. She then turned to face everyone else, except for Gaius, who was behind her then.

“He hates me, doesn’t he?”

Perhaps it was irrational to think, but Oriana found she couldn’t help it.

Sir Leon took one last look at her, then left behind Arthur. 

Sir Gwaine sported something of a smile, then said, “Who, Arthur? No, that’s merely his usual sunny demeanor.”

The tall man beside him smacked Gwaine on the shoulder, then shook his head disapprovingly. 

Oriana’s eyes flitted to Mordred, who was looking at her then. 

Though he was damn near a stranger, Mordred was the closest person outside of Sir Gwaine to a familiar face that she had near her, and for a moment she allowed his unwavering gaze to prop her up, as she inhaled and exhaled. For better or worse, she was thankful he was there.

He shook his head, then she removed her gaze from him, to find Morgana beside her.

The woman placed her right hand on Oriana’s left shoulder, then said, “No dear, he’s in shock.”

Oriana nodded, absentmindedly.

Then, a thought occurred to her.

“How long have you known about me?”

Morgana exhaled, then moved to stand behind her wife, who she took in her arms, and placed her chin on Gwen’s left shoulder. Gwen turned to Morgana and pressed a chaste kiss into her right cheek, before she wrapped her arms over where Morgana’s laid around her waist. It was a quiet, but intimate gesture, the likes of which Oriana had never witnessed before between anyone.

“Not long after Merlin left, I stopped in Ealdor while on my way back to Camelot, from visiting my sister, Morgause. When I knocked on the door, Merlin answered, and allowed me in. We spoke while I held you. You couldn’t have been more than half a year old at the time.”

This tidbit both shocked and saddened Oriana.

“Did you ever visit again?”

“No, but if Merlin had allowed it I would have.”

“Many of us would have,” Gwen said.

Her voice was earnest, and Oriana wondered if she knew how to be anything but that.

Still, Oriana had a few choice thoughts on what she had been told. However, the first question that came to mind popped out before she could dissect them further.

“He kept you all from me as well. Why?”

Morgana shared a glance with Gwen, who pursed her lips after, then Morgana disentangled and walked forward towards Oriana, again.

“I will not speak for him, but I have my thoughts on the matter. Regardless, you’re finally here, so if you’re agreeable to it, then I would like the chance to know the young woman you are now.”

Oriana sat there for a moment, and eyed the Queen, who awaited a response. 

In the way Morgana held herself alone, Oriana could see that she too was every bit the royalty that her title proclaimed her to be. The garments she wore were not that of a noble, but appeared as if she were fresh off of a bout of rough travelling, and therefore, had not taken the chance to change from those into something more befitting a woman of her status. Her face was soft, but with hard edges too, which made Oriana wonder how the woman had chosen to rule; was she that sort of person as well? 

There was much Oriana considered while looking at her aunt, but she came to the conclusion that there would be only one way to learn. 

“I’d like that, as well.”

A wave of fatigue hit Oriana in the silence that followed her assertion, and she found herself wishing she was lying down, again.

Morgana reached out to her, and squeezed one of her hands, then said, “We should let you rest, dear. Should you need to find me, Mordred will know the way.”

There was a hint of a smirk that Oriana saw on the older woman’s face, before she turned over onto her side. Unsure of what that had meant, she wondered idly in her exhaustion if he had somehow relayed to Morgana that they could speak with their minds. 

While she fell asleep, she vaguely heard Morgana ushering everyone from the vicinity, for which Oriana was grateful.

* * *

When she woke again, Oriana opened her eyes and found that the room had darkened considerably, and candles had been lit. Upon further inspection, she discovered that Gaius was seated at his work bench to her right, slowly creating what looked to be more medicine.

Then, a thought occurred to her. 

Perhaps it was not the time, but it’s not like she would be leaving just yet. 

“Do you happen to have an apprentice?”

She watched as Gaius ground up a bit of what looked like an herb, then he glanced over to where she still laid. Were it not so dark, or she not so far from the table, she might have tried to guess which one it was.

It was quiet for a while, then Gaius said softly, “I cannot seem to keep one for long. Ever since Merlin left, there have been a string of them, but no one ever stays.”

Oriana moved to prop herself up against her right arm, choosing to rest her chin in her right palm.

“Was he a good apprentice?”

Gaius poured a concoction he had been working on into a few vials, then replied with, “Mediocre, at best, as he was always chasing after Arthur.”

Oriana smiled softly at that. 

Her father might not mention Arthur, but her instinct had been correct at least; the King had meant something to Merlin at one time, enough that he was a mediocre apprentice because of him. Though she had thought, given Lancelot’s stories, that Merlin might have been a knight, this part made more sense. It explained why, given Merlin’s passable healing abilities, he seemed to have known so much about it.

“How often do you hear from him? When was the last time you received a letter?”

She watched Gaius as he flicked his gaze up from his work to fix her with a pointed stare and raised eyebrow.

“My dear girl, you sure ask a lot of questions.”

Before she could help herself, Oriana huffed out a laugh.

“I have been told.”

Gaius looked away from her, but after he picked up a vial of some sort of yellow liquid for what looked to be further inspection, he said, “I’d think so, after that line of questioning.”

Oriana remained quiet for some time and watched as Gaius worked. Truly, she did find the medicinal arts and anything to do with them fascinating. The easy silence that followed, in truth, was a balm to her soul, as well. What had occurred earlier had sapped as much energy from her mentally as a sparring match of any sort with someone experienced might.

The clinking of glass, and the bubbling of concoctions that Oriana could only guess as to what they might be, were the only sounds in the whole chamber. Scents that were dry or repugnant at best wafted around them, punctuated by the smell of herbs that ranged from sweet to sharp, indescribable scents. 

Gaius’ movements were slow, which she more than suspected was due to age, but still, he completed his work before her as if it were rote. Oriana supposed after years upon years of having done similar tasks, that it was difficult for it to be anything but. 

Carefully, Oriana pushed herself up to a seated position, then she allowed her feet to swing around and plant against the ground, before she padded over to the bench where Gaius sat. There was room for her, and so she sat down beside him, looking over what it was he was doing. 

Oriana recognized at least one of the tasks he was looking to complete; a simple sleeping draught, which she had made a time or two. 

Pushing up her sleeves of her still bloodied tunic, Oriana glanced over to Gaius to ask, “May I?”

Gaius again raised an eyebrow at her, and she wondered if that was a common facial expression for him, as she had already witnessed it twice.

“Do you know what it is you’re meant to be doing?”

“That I do.”

Gaius gestured in front of her and said, “Be my guest, then.”

Oriana began to work on grinding an herb that he had not reached just yet. It gave her mind something to focus on, as well as served to keep her hands busy, which was welcome after lying around for some time. If they were meant to be in silence, the least she could do is help, especially after the dropped glass she had caused Gaius to suffer previously.

Eventually the elongated silence was broken by Gaius when he said, “As I stated earlier, when I do receive letters from your father, they are limited on details. He has assured me that he is well though, and he asks after my own health, while also telling me of his travels. They are few and far between, with their frequency having diminished, over the years.”

Oriana’s heart hurt for the man, who clearly cared for Merlin. She wondered why her father had not done more to keep in contact with Gaius. She almost withheld what she said next, but in an effort to return truth for truth, she did not. Although she did wonder whether or not he had heard her tell Arthur the same earlier, she felt in that moment it bore repetition, yet again.

She placed down the mortar and pestle, then turned to Gaius again, and said, “He does not speak of Camelot, ever. Were it not for Lancelot and my grandmother, I would have never known to come here”

Gaius sighed, as he grabbed for the ingredient that Oriana had prepared for him. 

Meanwhile, she turned and brushed her hands off away from the table, to remove the stray debris from what her handiwork had wrought.

“No, I’d imagine he wouldn’t.”

The comment was quiet, almost as if it were more to himself than to her.

After what Oriana had seen earlier, she had more questions than she felt comfortable asking in that moment.

Seeing that a change of topic was in order, she asked, “What if I were to be your apprentice? I enjoy the healing arts, and if I may say, you look like you could use the assistance.”

Gaius looked up at her again, and fixed her with what she determined to be a scrutinizing stare.

“Do you plan to leave Camelot in the near future?”

The question was a fair one, to say the least. After all, she hadn’t even lived in the kingdom or citadel more than a fortnight.

“No, I do not. I travelled here for the tournament, but after, I will need a job to support myself. I’ve lived in Ealdor my whole life, and I have no wish to go back.”

Part of Oriana felt if she had to leave Camelot, then she would actually travel elsewhere, rather than return there. The thought of returning to Ealdor was about as appealing to her as losing in the first round of the tournament she had won by a slim margin. Though she loved Hunith and her father dearly, she had been there her whole life; it was her turn for adventures, she felt.

The elder man remained silent for a long time, then said, “If that is the case, I will speak to Arthur, and have him put you in the pay ledger. Report to me ready to work, after you have completed your part in the tournament.”

Arthur’s name pierced Oriana’s heart like an icicle, but still she said, “Thank you, Gaius.”

The ghost of a smile formed on the elder man’s lips, before he said, “You have not cleaned my leech tanks. I would not be thanking me just yet.”

“Duly noted,” Oriana said, as she chuckled a little.

A few moments passed, then Gaius smiled in earnest; it was one that reached his tired eyes.

“Though I wish it had been under better circumstances, it is still a pleasure to meet you, Oriana.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here we are. I hope that if you had any expectations regarding how this chapter might go, that this at least met them. I wrote 3 different drafts of this one, like I did with the last, hoping that I was doing all of the characters justice as I did. Whilst this is hardly the only confrontation/reveal, etc., it is one of the first, that also adds a few more canon characters back into the mix too, as what I imagine would be their older selves. So, it was definitely a balancing act for me as a writer to hopefully get these somewhat right, given I've clearly diverged from certain parts of canon greatly, already. Overall though, I'm really excited for where this story is going now that this chapter is written into a final draft, and being posted. 
> 
> As far as future chapters, I have written further ahead in linear and non linear ways, but after revising my outline a bit, those rough draft chapters will need to be edited/revised a decent amount, too. However, at this point 30 chapters is where it is planned to end, still. If that changes, I will of course update that, as I have been doing as I go with the tags. I have been trying to post every Friday, so we'll see if I can keep that up.
> 
> As always, I hope whether or not you liked this chapter, that you'll have an excellent/day/night, etc. If you've made it this far in the author's note, then an extra thank you to you for entertaining my rambling. Lol.


	10. Chapter 10

Long fingers slid over the rough edges of battered and seasons’ worn book covers. Oriana imagined that some pages would be tattered or ripped, perhaps the writing faded, with age, too. There were scrolls stuffed in the shelf as well, all of which looked to be in a similar condition. She perused the contents of Gaius’ collection above the first floor of the medicinal chambers, wondering what all she might find there. While she suspected most of them to be texts regarding the healing arts, perhaps there were even ones to do with magic? Hunith had mentioned that her brother had dabbled, and there was a chance for overlap in the two disciplines, after all. So, she grasped onto a decent sized tome, and removed it, wondering about its contents. 

Oriana was holding the book across her left forearm, while she flicked through it with her right hand, when a knock sounded from the door down below. She looked around, and noticed that Gaius was still out gathering herbs, as he had been for a long while. She imagined given his limited mobility it would take some time, after all.

Had he not spoken firmly against the thought, Oriana would have tagged along, to help him. However, Gaius seemed to think it was in his best interest to do it himself, so that he could work his limbs and muscles thoroughly. He was the physician, after all. Who was she to argue with him?

Rather than ignore the visitor though, Oriana said, “Come in,” loud enough that whoever it was might hear. 

When the door opened, it revealed both Naro and Brenna, who both stepped into the room and then shut the door behind them. 

“Goodmorning,” Oriana said.

The couple looked up at her, and Brenna said, “It’s good to see you on your feet, again. Sir Mordred mentioned you were here.”

“Only after he questioned our intent, for once we found you.”

Brenna’s facial expression became stormier then, and Naro’s looked more than a little irritated, Oriana noticed.

“Yes, it seems he has presumed that we might be responsible for your poisoning the other night?”

The statement ended in a way that sounded like a question. 

“Until he mentioned that, we only thought somehow you had gotten sloshed,” Naro said, in an even tone.

Oriana exhaled heavily, and closed the tome, then turned and put it onto the shelf again. Perusing the contents of the books would have to wait, it seemed. Then she turned to where both Naro and Brenna stood, and clutched the railing, then moved to lean over it. 

“Mordred and the court physician are under the impression that I was poisoned, and given my symptoms, I’m inclined to agree.”

“Why us, though?” Brenna asked.

A fair question, to say the least, Oriana thought.

“When Mordred asked what I had ingested that night, I mentioned the food you had given me, and the drink I shared with Ryia.”

“Has the Druid woman been questioned then, as well?”

Oriana shook her head.

While Mordred knew of Brenna at least, he had no idea who Ryia was at all, so that would have been all but impossible, unless she had walked up to the castle and stated her name.

“Not yet, no. But, she has as much reason to wish me ill as either of you, so,” Oriana trailed off.

Brenna raised an eyebrow up, then said, “Do you have any intention of seeking her out and questioning her?”

Oriana had not thought that far. 

Likewise, how was she to know if she was being lied to? The desired outcome hinged on her knowing whether or not someone was trying to mistake her for a fool, and outside of her intuition, there was not much else she could use to know for certain, as she hardly knew a single person involved in the whole matter.

However, it was a reasonable request, after all. Given that they both had been under suspicion, why should she not at least attempt to glean something from Ryia, too?

“Yes. The Druid encampment is large, but perhaps I might be able to walk close to where we were the other night and ask around.”

Brenna crossed her arms in front of her, and her expression hardened a bit more.

“See to it that you do then, because neither I nor Naro fancy being locked up in a foreign kingdom for a crime that we did not commit.”

Oriana, at that moment, was unsure about many things, but somewhere in her heart she knew without a sliver of a doubt that neither Naro nor Brenna had done it. Likewise, if they were suspect, then would they not have run after Mordred had questioned them? He was a knight of the realm, and they were guests; he had immunity, as well as magic and his sword, while combined, they could only claim the latter. Call it a feeling, or intuition, but something in her said that they were not the cause of her pain the other night.

Oriana looked between them, then said, “I do not believe either of you did it.”

“Would that matter though, if the king were to discover that we were under suspicion from Sir Mordred, when no other leads become readily available? I’ve watched others be flogged or executed for less.”

“What would it matter to the king-”

Oriana stopped, then narrowed her eyes. 

“You both know, don’t you.”

Brenna did not have magic, so that left Naro. 

She turned to them, and watched as they shared a look with Brenna before they both nodded. 

Oriana sighed, then walked down the stairs, and moved to stand closer to Naro and Brenna so that they could see the sincerity on her face when she said, “I would not see innocent people condemned for the actions of others, but as you might have guessed, I have been here, resting,” Oriana paused, then said, “I won’t be going to the tournament today, so that will leave me ample time to go find Ryia, and see if I can discern whether or not she was behind this.”

Brenna exhaled. 

“Thank you, Oriana.”

She shrugged. 

“I’d expect the same if the positions were reversed, so think nothing of it.”

The three lapsed into silence. 

Before any one of the three could speak again, another knock sounded at the door. 

Brenna and Naro wasted no time in stepping aside so that they were no longer blocking the door, while Oriana said, “Come in.”

She noticed briefly out of the corner of her eye that both Naro and Brenna dropped into motions of deference a few moments later; Oriana realized why when she spied both of the Queens of Camelot entering the medicinal chambers. Morgana’s and Gwen’s eyes briefly looked over to Naro and Brenna, whom they acknowledged, before turning their sights on Oriana. 

“Goodmorning,” she said. 

“Goodmorning,” Morgana echoed, raising an eyebrow at her. 

Gwen then asked, “How are you feeling?”

Oriana thought for a moment, and though she felt a bit bruised and her cuts were still not sealed properly, she was okay. After all, she was willingly on her own two feet again. That was something, at least. 

“I’m on the mend.”

“We were about to walk down to the stands to observe today’s matches. Will you be going as well?” Gwen asked. 

There was a part of Oriana that wished to go, but after the events of the day before, she could not imagine being surrounded by so many people, again. The tournament was exciting, and she knew it would only last for so long, but a larger part of her acknowledged that she needed to allow herself time to process not only the traumatic incident that had been the poisoning, but what had occurred with Arthur the day before. His anger and then reluctant acceptance had not frightened her, so much as irritated then saddened her. Regardless, her mind was spinning, and she knew it would be irresponsible to wade into the sea of people, without proper control of it. 

That, and she had some work to do, as she had said to both Brenna and Naro moments ago.

“Not today.”

Oriana watched as Morgana and Gwen shared a look between them. Before either could respond though, the door behind them opened, and Gaius ambled into the room, a bag around his person. 

“Good morning, your highnesses.”

“Goodmorning, Gaius,” the couple said in tandem.

Then they both looked back up at Oriana, and Morgana said, “We’ll be where Arthur was yesterday, should you need us.”

Where would Arthur be, Oriana absentmindedly wondered. 

Gaius glanced up to where she was, and said, “I see you're more of a morning person than your father was at your age.”

Oriana watched as Gwen helped Gaius be seated, and he good naturedly batted her away as if he hadn’t been struggling to sit down on his own.

Morgana gave Oriana an amused expression, then both she and Gwen bid Gaius their goodbyes, before they both waved to her and walked out of the door, shortly after.

Gaius set down his bag on one of his work tables, and shrugged out of it.

Then, he turned back to where she was. His eyes slid past her to Naro and Brenna, presumably, and she turned to both of them and said, “Gaius, this is Brenna, and Naro.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you both.”

“Likewise,” Brenna said, while Naro intoned, “The pleasure is ours, physician.”

Brenna then turned to Oriana and said, “My match will be starting soon, so I need to prepare. Would you mind stopping by my chamber later, so that you can let me know how your day went?”

The pleasantry was but a guise, given their new company, Oriana knew. Still, she meant it when she said, “Of course. Good luck today!”

Brenna smiled softly and nodded, then both she and Naro left without another word. 

Once they were gone, Oriana turned to Gaius, and found him looking at her. 

“Making friends already, I see.”

“So it would seem,” Oriana said absentmindedly, her mind on the matter at hand. 

“Did I hear you right, that you are not going to the tournament today?”

“No, I have another matter to take care of, unfortunately.”

Oriana sighed again, and plopped down on the bench opposite of Gaius.

Her left leg jiggled beneath the table as she looked over at him, who glanced up at her from what he had begun to busy his hands with; sorting freshly gathered herbs.

“If you’re not attending the tournament at present, you may make yourself useful to me for the moment. My eyes are not what they used to be, and I’m unsure if what I’ve brought back is worth using for medicines and the like. Help me sort through these, would you?”

Oriana smiled. 

“Of course.”

She was grateful to have something to do with her hands, though she allowed her leg to move as it wished, still. It was not uncommon for her to do that, after all, and it helped calm her, even if the movement was more frantic than not.

The two sat in relative silence for a while, as they worked, before he asked, “My dear, do you ever sit still?”

Oriana glanced up at Gaius, whose eyebrows were creased in between as he looked at her, while she said, “I’m not much for it, no.”

“So I can see.”

There was a raised eyebrow directed her way, but it did not compel Oriana to still her leg, nor stop occasionally tapping on the table for no reason at all, other than it made her feel better. It surprised her how quickly Gaius had caught on to her game; she had always been like that, but few ever pointed it out, or mentioned they had noticed, at the very least.

The two worked in tandem after, and finished the task together with comparative ease.

Not long after, Oriana bid Gaius a goodbye after he checked her wounds, just before the time when the morning meal might conclude. She hoped to catch the tail end of it being served, because given how little she had consumed since the poisoning, she was ravenous. While in the medicinal chambers, she had received fluids, fruit, and a few stray other foods, but not much else. It was no wonder she felt such a hunger as she did right then. 

It was only after Oriana was seated, and food in front of her, that she did look up to gander at her surroundings. There were a few people milling about the Great Hall, but most had cleared out to spectate or participate in the tournament, so that left few others around. Oriana dug into her meal, which consisted of a variety of whatever was left, since she had arrived late; still, it was a feast fit for a peasant, regardless. During harsh winters, she and those of Ealdor had survived on less, after all.

With how little she had eaten, the urge to tear through the meal was overwhelming, but she knew from experience that doing so would only make her sick, again. So, she picked up a few nuts and chewed on those, then drank, before eating some mushy fruit, and then after remaining there for a few minutes, Oriana then picked up a sausage and ate it as slow as her stomach would allow her to. By the time she finished off the rest of her plate, she was well and truly full, as she had hoped to be. 

After drinking her fill of water, and cleaning her face, Oriana stood up and decided it was as good a time as any to walk down to the Druid encampment. The thought did not fill her with excitement, but she knew it must be done, whether she wished to do it or not. 

A jaunt in the fresh air, she hoped, would help her to keep her wits about her, so she could figure out whether or not Ryia was indeed the culprit, or not. If not Ryia, though, then who? 

Naro had mentioned that they had heard her thoughts. 

Perhaps, there was an unknown suspect, hidden in the shadows, who wished her ill based on her parentage alone. Merlin had mentioned before that there were those who did not care for him, though she could not and still did not fully understand why. 

Likewise, if magic were involved, and all other current suspects had been distracted that night, then it was possible, Oriana knew. Magic, when in the hands of the wrong people, could do as much damage as those wielding swords or other weapons.

So caught up in her thoughts was Oriana, that she only realized that she had misjudged where to place her feet once she felt herself colliding with another body. 

There was a shout, and she found someone jerking away from her; she did not recognize them, but they certainly did not care, as a string of litanies escaped their mouth. 

Oriana took a minute to reorient herself, before she managed, “I’m truly sorry. I was lost in thought and-”

“I do not need a minstrel’s tale. Just, watch where you’re going, would you?”

The woman was at least a head under Oriana. She had short sandy brown hair, a short nose, with hazel eyes and pale skin. By her clothes alone, Oriana could see that she was a commoner of some sort, but whether she was a servant or a visitor was anyone’s guess. There was a grim set to her mouth as she fixed Oriana with an unimpressed stare.

“Right, of course.”

Oriana stood there, awkwardly, until the woman in front of her stalked off.

She glanced around after, and noticed that she was at the precipice of the lower town. Oriana took a breath, and allowed the air to fill her lungs thoroughly before exhaling at a measured pace. Then, she strode forward, more conscious of her surroundings then, as she tried to focus and maintain the barrier she had been using for the past few days when she could manage it. 

Oriana had walked for a decent amount of time amongst the foot carved paths, and had even spoken to a few of the vendors that were at their humble stands, before she heard a voice call out to her. 

Oriana turned to see Ryia bounding towards her, a large smile on her face.

Soon, the woman had stopped before her and said, “There you are! I’m glad to see you’re alright.”

Her smile dimmed a bit, once she saw the hard lines of Oriana’s face. 

“Are you, because it appears I was poisoned that night.” 

Oriana’s voice was harsh, and clipped, in her reply.

Ryia’s eyes widened.

“Poisoned?”

Oriana nodded.

“Do you think I had something to do with that, then?”

There was a hint of incredulity in the question. 

Still, Oriana continued.

“I only drank from the cup you shared with me, and ate a soup my friend gave me right before my condition devolved. So, either it was you, or my friend who did it, and I hesitate to think that it was her, which leaves you alone.”

Ryia bit her lip, then said, “I swear to you, I had no part in harming you, Oriana. Once I realized how much pain you were in, I ran off to find your friends, and when I came back, you were gone. I assumed they found you first.”

Oriana thought back to that night. It made sense with what she remembered. There were many voices, but then Brenna and Naro had carried her back to the castle. Still, she hesitated to trust Ryia, given she was even more of a stranger than Brenna was. 

It was a risky gamble, of course, trusting anyone new. That was all Oriana had done since arriving in Camelot though; giving allowances to people whom she had not known a day in her life, and hoping her intuition had not been wrong. Like with Brenna and Naro though, Oriana felt that Ryia had not done it either. More information was necessary though, so, she chose not to push the woman away, but rather keep her closer for the time being if possible, at least.

“Well, before all of that happened, I had a good time with you,” Oriana said. 

It was true, even if she was doubting whether she should have said it at all.

Bright rouge patterns bloomed on both of Ryia’s cheeks, and she smiled hesitantly. 

“As did I.”

Oriana swallowed, unsure what to do with this latest development. Ryia seemed to be genuine in her words, but how was she to know if it was all an act or not? It was a dangerous game to be playing with someone who could have meant to harm her.

Somewhere amidst all of the uncertainty, Oriana made a decision.

“My next match is the day after tomorrow, if you’d like to come.”

The tournament was held surrounded by people. If anything were to happen, there would be witnesses, at least.

“Okay, well, would you take a favor from a stranger, then?”

That reminded Oriana of Lancelot’s armor, which she had still yet to use. Perhaps that was a task for later that day, if she could manage that. It would need a good cleaning, after all.

Oriana watched Ryia pull a green ribbon from her hair, which brought the bright red tresses to fall in all directions, framing her face. 

Now, it was Oriana’s turn to blush, because for whatever reason, the sight had stirred something in her. She felt embarrassed on her own behalf as Ryia held out the favor to Oriana, who reached out her right hand, and allowed their fingers to brush as she took the green ribbon. 

Oriana played with the ribbon in her hand, acutely aware that she had yet to agree to wearing it, while Ryia still looked at her, and she returned the glance. 

Eventually, she said, “Thank you. I’ll make no promises just yet, but for what it’s worth, I appreciate the gift.”

“I’m glad to have offered it, then.”

Silence fell between them, then Oriana said, “Well, I have chores awaiting me, so I should go. It was nice seeing you again.”

“You, too, Oriana.”

The way Ryia said her name, it tinkled, and her eyes were bright, as well. 

Oriana felt herself sport a small smile, then turned on her heel. 

She walked back to the castle, her mind on what had just happened, but also now the process of cleaning Lancelot’s armor, which would be an arduous task, as it had rusted. Once she brought it back to its full size, it would no doubt be dented or malformed. Had she not been taught to care for it by the previous owner, then bringing it might have been a lost cause. Multiple people had already helped her, but now, she felt it was time she did a few things well and truly for herself. 

With the sole intent of reaching her quarters, Oriana was startled from her the sanctity of her own thoughts by a voice that was just as grating as it had been days before.

She stopped, and was standing near the entrance of the castle, when she turned to see the arse from the other day, striding up towards her. 

“Were you bored of whoring yourself out to the Knights, or did they tire of slumming it with the likes of you?”

Though the accusation stung, she reminded herself of how she had felt the other day, when she had been punished for her outburst. He was not worth it, after all. 

Oriana rolled her eyes seconds later and turned to walk away from the heckling. It was utter rubbish, regardless of what he said, and anyone with a lick of sense would see that. Thankfully, there was hardly anyone at all around them, given that the tournament was in full swing, for the day.

“I would have suspected that the only reason you saved the King was so that you could do the same with him, but given who you are-”

Oriana whipped around and a movement spell escaped her a few blinks later, causing the man to stop mid-sentence and land flat on his backside. Then, without even thinking, she ripped her sword from its sheath and advanced until she was standing above him. Consequences be damned, he had crossed a line. Internally, she was quaking, but she refused to let him see that, even as he hauled himself to his feet again.

“You bitch,” he growled out. 

“Listen here, you spineless toad, I’d like to know what exactly it is about me that makes you feel the need to speak to me this way, when you are well aware that we do not know each other at all,” Oriana ground out.

Everything in her was screaming though, wondering what the hell she was going to do. He knew her secret, and unlike everyone else who had learnt, he could not be trusted.

There was a glint to his eyes that she did not like, whatsoever. 

The two glared at each other, then he sneered.

“Your whole  _ “I never knew my real father” _ bit is pathetic. So what? Uther murdered countless people, who grew up with no parents, because of him. You think you’re special, because you’re the daughter of,” she raised her sword at him, and he sneered even more, but amended his statement, “two men who by whatever fairness might be left in the world never even should have been allowed to create you-”

“That is quite enough.”

The voice that had spoken moments before was thunderous, and she watched as what seemed to be all blood draining from the man’s face, before her. 

Oriana turned, and saw Arthur on the steps not far from either. He was jogging down them, taking two and three at a time. Soon, he was standing beside the two.

He grabbed the man in front of her by the neck, and jerked him by the scruff. 

“You are hereby withdrawn from this tournament, and have earned yourself a stay in the dungeon, until I can figure out what to do with you.”

“You cannot-”

Arthur put himself closer to the man’s face, much closer than he had been to Oriana’s the previous day, and said, “I suggest you not finish that sentence. I am King, need I remind you. So I can, and after what you said to her, I will.”

There was a pause, and then Arthur continued in an even more quiet tone, “My father may not have been a good man, but do not fault Oriana for his or my sins, because she had no part in any of them.”

Arthur didn’t spare Oriana a glance, but after they disappeared, she allowed herself to breathe for a moment, as she sheathed her sword.

There were a few people staring, she realized, as she glanced around her. The embarrassment from that alone made her turn away. Afterwards, she strode to the practice green where she knew that there were inanimate dummies she could hit, rather than the very live one which had been taken to the dungeon. 

It was only once Oriana was far away from others that she allowed herself to break; there were tears, hot and angry droplets pouring down her face. The emotions she had held back since yesterday coupled with what had just happened, made her cry, and it was a relief to do so, as she felt well and truly spent trying to hide all of what she felt. Necessary or not, she had never been the type to withhold herself in that way; Merlin, Lancelot, nor Hunith had ever asked that of her, unless out of caution for safety. Of course, she was in Camelot now, and what had worked in Ealdor was a far cry from what life required of her in the citadel. 

After she had exhausted all of her tears, Oriana looked to find a nearby practice dummy, then unsheathed her sword. First, she whacked at it as much as her body would allow given her wounds, then she held out her left hand, and whispered, “Forbaernan.”

Soon, the practice dummy was on fire.

It was while Oriana was watching the flames dance before her that she noticed someone clearing their throat to her right. She slid her eyes away from her flamboyant handiwork to find King Arthur, looking at her with worry evident in his features, which she immediately recognized whether Oriana knew the man or not. 

“I see you’re not the only one who takes comfort in swordwork.”

She huffed, then placed the sword in front of her while she made her feet stand apart in a widened sort of at rest stance, whilst laying her left down then her right hand on top of the pommel.

Arthur stepped forward and glanced at the dummy, which didn’t resemble what it had been some time before then. The flames were still devouring it, and vaguely she wondered if the King would be angry at her for what she had done to it.

Arthur turned to her after assessing her handiwork, and said, “That dummy didn’t stand a chance.”

The smile she saw on his face was small, but still visible. 

Vaguely, she wondered if he meant the one in front of her, or the arse who had been giving her problems. 

“So it would seem,” she replied. 

Her sides hurt after the work she had put in, so she removed her right hand and placed it on her right side, as she wheezed a little. It had been ignorant to come and train, but she needed an outlet for her frustration. Better the practice dummy than that other man’s face, she wagered. 

“How do you feel?” Arthur asked, softly.

Oriana knew she could lie, but the thought fell from her lips when she met his eyes again, and saw the genuine concern in them.

“In pain. I’m not up to snuff to heal myself thoroughly just yet though, so they’ll remain that way for today, at least.”

“I see.”

Oriana knew not how to respond, so she lapsed into silence and looked away for a short time.

After what felt like ages, she swept some hair from her eyes, then glanced over at Arthur, again.

He cleared his throat once more, then looked away. 

“Oriana, I understand if you wish to have nothing to do with me, especially with how I reacted to you yesterday. If that is the case, I will accept your decision.”

She watched him pause, as if deliberating with himself, before he continued.

“However, if for any reason you do wish to know me, then I would very much like to know you.”

Oriana laughed for a moment, but stopped when Arthur gave her a searching, almost wounded look.

She sheathed her sword in as fluid of a motion as she could manage with how nervous she was, then walked forward to tentatively reach out her right hand to place it on his left shoulder. 

“I snuck around my father to take Lancelot’s armor, traveled from Ealdor to Camelot on my own, then entered my first tournament here rather than in another kingdom, just so I could have a chance to meet you.”

An unsure smile replaced the pain that had been on his face moments before.

Arthur sighed, and Oriana removed her hand as he did, to replace it back at her aching side.

“Regardless of my behavior yesterday, I am glad you’re here. I simply needed some time to come to terms with it all. I still do, but after what I overheard earlier, I felt I should probably check on you, at least.”

It was Oriana’s turn to smile hesitantly. Though what the arse had said was more than a bit upsetting, she was grateful that it had led to a moment like the current one.

“Thank you. The kindness is appreciated.”

A part of Oriana had exhaled, as the conversation between her and Arthur continued. It was awkward, but at least it was finally happening, without the disbelief and challenging glares. Her doubts and her fears regarding him were not quite allayed just yet, but they were lessened, to say the least.

“Well, I suppose I will let you get back to it. Though, I’d imagine after what occurred yesterday, Gaius would advise you to rest now.”

She sighed, then nodded. 

“I will.”

Arthur did some weird sort of salute with two of his fingers, then strode off to do Goddess knew what.

Once he was gone, Oriana muttered, “Brimstréam”

Soon, with a torrent of water sluicing over the fire, it was out. Taking care to check the ground and the dummy itself, she made sure that no ember or flame had gone untouched. Once she was certain that it was safe to do so, she withdrew the spell.

Oriana exhaled heavily, and stood there for a moment, staring at the charred remains, wondering what she could do next. Brenna was no doubt still at the tournament, while Oriana had worked up an appetite, so she decided the midday meal would be best, then she would figure out where to go from there. 

* * *

Unlike the tail end of the morning meal, the Great Hall was bustling when Oriana walked in. There were few seats to go around, and she knew then it would be prudent to take the first one she could find, so she did. 

While waiting to be served, Oriana looked to her right, where someone who was engaged in another conversation with the person to their right had their back to her. To her left, Oriana found the person she had bumped into earlier, and the woman looked none too pleased to see her. 

“Oi, are you following me?”

Oriana shook her head. 

“Not at all. I’m just here for a meal, same as you.”

The woman took a drink from the cup in front of her then said, “Alright. Point taken.”

A plate was placed in front of Oriana, so she began to eat not long after, because she was hungry, but also owing to the desire to stave off the inevitable feeling that she needed to fill the awkward silence that had fallen between them.

It was only after she had thoroughly filled her stomach, that she heard the woman to her left speak again. 

“If my memory is correct, you would be Oriana of Escetir, right?”

Oriana tensed. Given the day she had been subject to thus far, it was hard not to be suspicious, at least. She then turned to look at the woman, and nodded, slowly. 

After, she said, “You are?”

“Willow.”

The woman wiped her face with the offered cloth red handkerchief that was emblazoned with a golden dragon, which had been present for every person at each meal thus far, then she added, “Also, no need to worry, I heard your name announced during the tournament, yesterday.”

The woman must have noticed her sudden tense composure then. Oriana relaxed after Willow had mentioned that though, as it was a plausible reason for her to know Oriana’s name, at least. 

“Ah, so are you competing, as well?”

“I am. We’re likely to face each other soon, even.”

So, they were in the same bracket. Hopefully, unlike the last person Oriana had met from the dual wielders, Willow would cause her less grief.

“I see. Whereabouts are you from?”

“Escetir, same as you. Though I was raised amongst the Druids, and in lesser known corners of the kingdom, so you’d probably not know any of ‘em. What about you?”

Oriana had clearly missed that when Willow’s name had been announced.

“Ealdor. It’s on the border of Camelot and Escetir. Whether you’ve heard of it or not, well I suppose that depends on where you’ve been, and who you’ve been with.”

Oriana drank a sip of her water, and only after she had sat the goblet down, did she turn to see Willow looking at her. 

“I’ve heard of it.”

Willow’s voice was rough, and not at all how it had been before. She cleared her throat after though, and drank another sip of water, before standing up. 

“It was good to finally meet you, Oriana.”

“You as well?” Oriana assumed it had been a slip of the tongue, but still responded with more of a question instead of a statement, then watched as Willow disappeared amongst a sea of people

The awkward conversation aside, Oriana had bigger problems; what she was going to tell Brenna. Since what happened in the courtyard, her thoughts had been consumed by what he had said, as well as Arthur’s reaction, and that had left little time to consider who might have poisoned her, if not Ryia, Naro, or Brenna.

Oriana sat with that for a moment, until an idea occurred to her; it was an unexplored path, to say the least. Still, given that she had little else to show for information, it was worth treading down, for the time being. With that thought in mind, she hopped up onto her feet, and walked outside of the Great Hall, hoping that perhaps there was a way to confirm her growing suspicion.

Given that Gaius had lived for many years longer than all of the inhabitants of Camelot that she had met thus far, Oriana felt that he would be the best one to go to with such a sensitive matter. 

So, she strode quickly to the medicinal chambers, and opened the door to them in a hurry. She spied a shock of white hair she had come to recognize as Gaius’ own, and shut the door behind her, before asking, “Gaius, would you happen to know how to extract the truth from someone?”

The elder physician in question glanced up from where he was patching up someone, a tournament competitor most likely, on one of the cots laid out for that purpose. Oriana had flown into the room, on the cusp of an answer, she hoped, only to find that she and Gaius were not alone. While the physician gave her a withering look, the man receiving care gave her an odd expression, then covered his wound, and left the chamber moments later. 

“I have no problem answering questions you may have, Oriana, but do not enter my domain like that, ever again.”

His reaction quelled her for a moment, then she remembered why she had come. 

“Do you, though?”

Gaius began to make his way to sit down, and Oriana stepped forward and helped him. As he had with Gwen earlier, Gaius batted her hands away, despite it being clear he could use someone to lean on. 

Once he was seated, he laced his fingers together, and gazed up at her with a solid, serious expression. She had hardly seen anything else from him, but this one was more severe than all the others he had thrown her way, thus far.

“Before I answer your question, I want you to tell me why it is that you need this information.”

“I believe I know who poisoned me, but without a way to be certain, I’ll only leave myself up to be made a fool of, again, if I simply hazard a guess.”

“Arthur was in here earlier, inquiring about that.”

Oriana pursed her lips, as she remembered what Brenna had said to her. 

“I do not wish for innocent people to be accused, Gaius.”

“Very well. What I am about to tell you is to be used sparingly, do you understand?”

She nodded.

“Now, in an ideal situation, you will have a person’s permission to place this spell upon them. Given the circumstances, should you need to bend that, I shall look the other way. However, I must caution you not to make a habit of it, Oriana.”

“Of course.”

Gaius gave her a hard glance, then motioned beside him and said, “There is a book up there, which contains the information you shall need regarding the spell we have discussed. It is the very first book at the top left. I trust you will have no trouble reaching it.”

Oriana nodded, and stole up the stairs, taking a few during each stride, so as not to waste time. 

She reached for the book and grabbed it, then walked back down to Gaius. 

It was a small book, with a dark blue cover.

She handed it to Gaius, who flipped through it to the page she would need then held it back to her. 

Oriana received the book from him, and then began to read, poring over the page. It was not a complicated spell, but the weight of knowing it was of course something she felt, now that she had come across it. Of course, whether she was suited to casting it would only be known once she had practice, and given that it was something she hoped to use soon, well that was a bit of a problem. 

A magic wielder could know a spell and not be able to properly invoke it. That had happened to her numerous times, even where healing was concerned, despite it being her niche. Oriana hoped she could manage to use it properly, when she would need it most.

“Thank you.”

“I meant what I said. This is not something I would hand off lightly, so please do not let me discover I’ve misplaced my faith in you, or that you yourself have misplaced this book. You may keep it only until you have finished seeking out your assailant, and not a moment longer.”

“I understand.”

“Alright, now off with you. The sooner you do what it is you need to, the better. Good luck.”

Oriana left the medicinal chambers seconds later and walked to Brenna’s chamber undeterred, hoping that she had finished her part in the tournament for the day. Outside of the door, she held the blue book in her left, then knocked with her right hand. 

Oriana heard voices on the other side, so she knew that someone at least was in there. When the door swung wide, Naro was the first person she saw. 

They stepped aside, and allowed Oriana in, without so much as a single word. Brenna was sitting on her bed wearing a multicolored dress rather than the tunics and breeches that Oriana had become accustomed to seeing her in; a book of her own, opened in front of her. Upon seeing Oriana though, Brenna set it aside on the nightstand, still open. Then, she turned around, and allowed her feet to be braced against the floor. 

Oriana heard Naro speaking behind her, and pivoted to see them staring at the door, where they were concluding a spell. When they turned to face both her and Brenna, they said, “No one will be able to hear us, now. So, did the Druid girl confess?”

“No, but I might know who has done it. However, I want to be certain, so I may have found a way to do that.”

“What is it?” Brenna asked from behind her. 

She turned to face where Brenna sat, now with her arms crossed in front of her. 

Naro went to sit by her left side on the edge of the bed, and looked to Oriana, and said, “Do tell.”

Oriana held up the book and replied, “There’s a spell in this book that will help me extract the truth from whoever I place it on. I’ve read it over, and I think I’ll be able to use it when the time comes.”

“Who do you plan to use it on?” Brenna queried.

“A certain man, who is currently being held in Camelot’s dungeons.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!
> 
> So, if you've read this far, one I just want to say thank you, because I genuinely still love this story, for what it is. Also, two, thank you for the comments, kudos, etc! Reaching this point has been a labor of love, and easily this will be the longest fanfic I have ever written. Likewise, I genuinely am grateful for any shred of attention this fic gets.
> 
> Three, I've been writing and outlining further, and 30 might be too few chapters, given a new plotline or two that I've consciously added now, so though the ending is generally the same, the path to get there is a bit more complicated now. As I can, I will update the tags, etc. because what I plan to do will change the story in a major way; though it will still keep in spirit with the fic, do more justice to certain characters we all know and love, and the world I'm building around them all. That's about all I can say for now though.
> 
> Anyways, just thought I'd mention that. As for the next chapter, I'll attempt to have it up before the turn of the year, but if not, then that first Friday of January (edit to add, I meant after the new year, so January 8th.) is where I'll be aiming for. (3rd edit on Jan. 6th to say that due to today's events, I am postponing editing and posting Ch. 11 on the 8th, and planning for the 15th, currently.)
> 
> Okay 3rd and final edit to this note, hopefully: Unfortunately, I have fallen down the stairs in my house, and I'm still hurting. The likelihood of me finishing out Ch. 11 this weekend is not high now. If I post anything, it might be my short entry for Week 2 of GwenFest (Which is being run on Tumblr, and if you have time, you should check it out. Gwen deserves the world, and I'm super excited to have found it.) Either way, I'm tentatively saying that the next chapter will *fingers crossed* be posted before the end of next week. If I happen to be able to sit in front of my computer for long later in the weekend, it could be up by Monday, but I'm not going to hold myself to that, if I'm still not feeling great tomorrow or whatever. I realize I owe no one an explanation, but I felt like I'd give one, anyways considering how many times I had to post pone. Life happens though. I hope everyone is well!
> 
> Update 4: I rewrote Ch. 11 a 4th time today, now that I've mostly healed from my fall. It sits at over 5K, but it needs editing. So, at this point, I'll just say that if an update is to come, it'll happen on a Friday because life and I prefer consistency. Now that the rough draft is officially complete, barring any major errors I find, it *should* be posted this Friday or the next. *fingers crossed*
> 
> Speaking of which, Happy Holidays, whatever that might look like for you! This world is chaos, but I hope that you might have a few minutes of peace, regardless. Also, should I not post before New Years', I wish everyone a Happy New Year! May 2021 be far better than 2020 was for you! 
> 
> Regardless, thank you so much for reading and I hope you have a great day!


	11. Chapter 11

“What have we here?”

The voice that spoke was one that Oriana had come to recognize as a particularly irritating one, but nonetheless the person she, Brenna, Naro, and Mordred had come to see. After discussing it further amongst the three of them, they had all elected to include the only knight of Camelot who might agree to the venture; Sir Gwaine seemed a risky choice considering that he was many years older than them all, and his allegiance should first be to those much more powerful than they. So, down to the dungeon they had all gone, together, to seek the source of her most recent foul thoughts.

Before anyone else could respond to the question, however, Brenna spoke up from beside Oriana. 

“Dicun?”

Incredulity was flush in Brenna’s tone, which was marked also by what appeared to be prior knowledge, too. 

Oriana’s eyes flashed between Brenna, Naro, and then over to the man who had been addressed. It was Mordred’s voice that took her back to where her other companions stood.

“You know this man?” Mordred asked, at the same time that Dicun said, “Lady Brenna and Naro, too. What a surprise it is to see you both here.”

Oriana could see, without having known Naro long, that they were even less enthused to see Dicun than she. Beside them, Brenna gaped for a second more at the aforementioned man, before her gaze slid to Mordred. 

She pursed her lips, then said, “Yes. He and his mother were frequent guests at my family’s estate, for many years. We’ve known each other since we were children.”

Before she could help it, Oriana’s mouth dropped. 

She quickly pulled up her jaw, and said, “Well, that was one revelation I least expected, today.”

Brenna pursed her lips, and Naro crossed their arms.

“You and I both,” Naro commented.

From Oriana’s left, where both Brenna and Naro stood, the former shot a glare that was focused past Oriana’s right shoulder, where the man they had come to visit remained, past Mordred’s own form. Oriana’s gaze was brought to him once more though, when she heard his voice fill the air again.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit, Princess?” Dicun asked, cutting off any further discussion about himself, for the moment. 

It was said in a tone that resembled a snarl, rather than deference. She presumed he only said it to grate her further. Regardless, she would have rather not heard it at all. 

“I am no princess, nor do I seek such a title.” Oriana paused briefly, to breathe, then she spoke up before anyone else could, to say, “However, what I do wish to have are answers.”

The man narrowed his eyes.

“When I last spoke my truth, I was tossed here. Forgive me when I say, you’ll receive none from me.”

Oriana had expected reluctance or even resistance, but she had not yet wagered how she’d handle it. Though Gaius had suggested using the spell against this man’s will, that was a line she refused to cross. 

In the midst of her indecision, Brenna spoke up again, from beside her.

“Your mother would be weeping if she knew what you’ve done, Dicun. How could you?”

Dicun tore his eyes from Oriana moments after, then allowed them to rest on Brenna, who had been speaking to him with such disdain.

“You’ve no right to bring her into this.”

His voice was low, and gravelly. Apparently, Brenna had touched a nerve.

Brenna shrugged.

“Why ever not? You speak her name for pity and put on piety wherever you roam, but then treat a stranger in the way you have? Have you no shame?”

Dicun walked closer, and gripped the bars in front of him tightly, to where his pale knuckles lightened further. His face was pressed closer to them between the slats, before he said, “She dedicated her life to subverting the oppressive rule those with magic suffered under Uther’s reign. I have no intention of making nice with a person of his lineage, nor should anyone who has a lick of magic and an ounce of self respect.”

Oriana stepped closer to the man, who still leered at her from where he stood.

“I played no part in Uther Pendragon’s life, yet you treat me as if I am to blame for whatever occurred then. Regardless of what my predecessors have done, I am not them, nor are you yours.”

Dicun spat at the dusty earth just before Oriana’s feet, then said, “The very man who turned his back on our kind, his own kin, raised you. How can I trust that you’ll be any different?” 

Oriana balked. 

While she had heard criticisms of Arthur thus far, Merlin, however, had been largely left out, until then. She had a few irritated thoughts of her own towards him, given what she had learnt in Camelot, but to say he had turned his back on his kin, his family? That was the furthest thing from the truth, as she had known him her whole life, and regardless, Merlin had always cared for her grandmother, Lancelot and she, greatly. They were never truly without, because of him. 

“You speak lies; my father has never turned his back on myself, Lancelot or my grandmother. We are his kin, and yet we have known the good he is capable of, and has done for us and others many times over.”

A derisive laugh echoed into the silence after.

The cold stare which Dicun had affixed upon her, seemed to chill more in the aftermath.

“Your lack of understanding is proof that what I speak is the truth,” he said, then stopped, but Mordred cut him off before he could speak again.

“Enough.”

His voice was stern in a way she had never heard before, but she imagined being a knight required such an authoritative tone on occasion. 

Dicun turned to Mordred, and levelled an equally disgusted look at him. 

“You’re no better, druid. While your own were scrambling to pick up the pieces, you donned a cloak of red and gold to pledge fealty to the man responsible for the deaths of others like you, like us.”

His response floored Oriana. It became clearer to her right in that moment that there was little she knew or understood about the world she had willingly stepped into. 

“We share nothing,” Mordred ground out.

Something of a smirk impressed itself into Dicun’s features before he responded clearly with, “You are right about that. I bow to no Pendragon, nor will I ever.”

The conversation had spun farther away from the topic at hand than Oriana had meant for it to. Hoping to reel it back, she asked, “Were you perhaps involved in a recent poisoning I suffered from?”

Dicun’s face morphed into a more serious expression, then glanced at her, before he responded heartbeats later.

“If that is the knowledge you seek, I can assure you all if it had been me, I would not be here, nor within a fortnight’s horseback ride worth of Camelot’s borders, purely out of self-preservation.”

While she did wish to be thorough, a part of Oriana knew that she would receive the truth from him, with or without the spell. Before she could debate the merits of mentioning the original plan, her thoughts were cut off by Dicun speaking up again to add, “However, I must say that it is such a shame that whoever did it was unable to finish the job.”

A multitude of questions sprung to Oriana’s mind, as the shock washed over her, following the pointed words directed her way. There were few times in her life that Oriana could recount being stunned into silence, but in the moments following the stranger’s words, she now included then as part of that list. 

Silence pervaded for mere seconds, before Oriana heard Brenna, Naro and Mordred speak up, as a smarmy sort of look graced Dicun’s features. That was all she could focus on, rather than the words of others around her, because she knew it meant nothing good at all.

“What? The great Oriana Pendragon cannot defend herself? Imagine that.”

Oriana Pendragon.

For the barest slip of time, the woman in question lamented that the first time she heard that name would not be by anyone who mattered anymore, but the git before her who wielded it like a weapon, instead. The next thought was that she was grateful that it seemed at a quick glance that Dicun had been placed in a cell far from others within the dungeon itself.

While Oriana was attempting to shore up a response to him, she could feel the tentative grip she had on her mind slipping; soon her thoughts would once again be roaming free to whoever might be able to hear them. Given what was happening, that was not an option at all, nor was allowing Dicun to believe he had the upper hand, despite how he had startled her so with his vehemence.

"We're through here."

The firm way she spoke was a facade, but she waited for her words to hang in the air long enough for them to have an impact, then turned away and sped as far removed from where they had been, as possible.

At some point, in a corridor many paces from the dungeon’s entrance, Oriana heard her name. 

The blood in Oriana’s veins burned like fire, and she wished to channel that into something more physical, but for the moment, she slowed to a stop and turned around to find not only Brenna, but Naro and Mordred sprinting after her. As she caught her breath, the three others came to a stop all around her. Only Brenna looked winded, while Naro and Mordred hardly took long to catch up. 

“A fool’s errand,” Naro spat out. 

All eyes were trained on Naro then, until Brenna spoke up from their left, and said, “Perhaps not. Abhorrent though he may be, he is innocent, too.”

“You believe that?” Oriana asked. 

Brenna turned, all eyes on her. 

“What Dicun said to you was terrible, and I do not believe what he does; you are your own person, and deserve your life as much as the next. However, I have had the displeasure to know him my entire life, and if he says he did not, then he is innocent,” Brenna paused, possibly to allow her words to soak in, before she concluded with, “You yourself have witnessed that he seeks no permission to speak his mind.”

Her words echoed Oriana’s thoughts.

Oriana grimaced, nodded, then glanced around her before her curiosity overcame the best of her, and she asked, “Who is this Dicun, then?”

“He is of a noble house, as Naro and I are. His house seat resides in Nemeth, as his father was a knight of the late King Rodor,” Brenna began, then glanced at her partner, who spoke up after her.

“His father was among the last murdered by Uther Pendragon for suspicions of sorcery when a group from our kingdom visited Camelot during a land dispute, in which the then King cried foul when the former had successfully negotiated in Rodor’s stead, with all in attendance, as to why Nemeth should have a portion of the disputed land. He claimed that sorcery must have been involved, as there was no possibility all could have agreed at one time without it,” Naro stated.

Oriana felt repulsed by what she had heard. Her features immediately formed a look of disgust, as she exclaimed, “That’s horrible!”

“Uther Pendragon was a tyrant, and were it not for his son usurping him, this kingdom would be much worse off,” Naro replied.

Oriana knew little of how Uther Pendragon was dethroned, so she would simply have to take their word for it.

“What of Dicun’s mother?” Mordred asked, quietly.

“She was not far from the citadel when it occurred, as she was visiting her parents, who were nobles in Uther’s court. They were known by some to aid magic users leaving Camelot, and Uther’s misplaced wrath behind.”

Naro nodded, then said, “His mother, Gods rest her soul, died a few years ago from natural causes, and ever since he has entered tournaments across the Five Kingdoms, where he is known for being a sore winner and milking the good name his predecessors built up before him.”

“For as much as his mother was lovely, he is an arse,” Brenna added.

Oriana listened carefully to the new information, and burgeoning empathy began to course through her. 

That man, Dicun, had lost not only his mother, but his father as well. The latter had been to senseless slaughter, at the hands of her own grandfather. Though Uther Pendragon had never been a person she held in any high regard, as she had heard of his brutality, it still made her ache that she descended from such a cruel man. Dicun’s dislike of her surprised her no longer, after what she had learnt. Regardless, it was not she who had murdered his father, and so his anger was mislaid.

A thought occurred to her, which she felt should be addressed at a later time. For the moment, affirming Brenna and Naro’s innocence was her priority, given that they were certain it was not Dicun. 

Ripping the green ribbon that Ryia had gifted her with earlier, Oriana held it in her free palm, as the little blue book still occupied the other, and began reciting words she knew by rote; a locator spell. For a moment, those around her, and the place, fell away.

When she was a young girl, it had become readily apparent to her father that she was indeed apt to lose things. Rather than be angry with her, Merlin taught her a locator spell which would suffice for people at a short distance, as well as objects within a certain range. It had saved him, Hunith, Lancelot, and Oriana much grief in the years that followed, because no matter how much she had tried, Oriana was bound to lose something unimportant or not, somewhere, eventually. Given how little she had brought to Camelot, it was a miracle in itself still that she had yet to do so.

The words she said came out in more of a question, but retained a definitive edge to them as well.

The slip of green fabric glowed bright green after, in her right hand, then rose up into the air and pointed towards the corridor’s end in a very un-ribbon like fashion.

“It appears I’ll be able to find Ryia with this,” Oriana said out loud.

Internally, she was grateful that it had worked at all. While she had used it for objects countless times, there had never been an instance where she had needed it for a person, yet.

“That’s quite handy,” Brenna said. 

Oriana glanced back over to Brenna, and replied, “It has been many times over.”

“Fantastic. Now, let us find the Druid woman, and be done with the guesswork,” Naro said.

After, they all began to follow the glowing ribbon, which led them to a different part of the castle. For a moment, Oriana thought she might have done the spell wrong, until she entered a large chamber and found herself face to face with not only Ryia, but Arthur, a handful of knights, and an elderly man cuffed in dark metal chains, as well. 

Ryia’s face, which had been more somber, came to life at the sight of her. 

“Oriana!”

The ribbon decreased in its luminescence, then fell slack in her hand, seconds later.

“Is everything alright?”

As Oriana tied the swatch of fabric to her wrist again, she looked down at the strange older man, who seemed vaguely familiar to her. It was startling to see him cuffed and on his knees beside the rest of those within the hall, but she assumed that an explanation would be readily provided from either Ryia, Arthur or one of the Knights who stood close to the King; they consisted of Sir Leon, Sir Gwaine, and a dark skinned knight with a thick beard, whom she had never met before. The knight unknown to her, who appeared to have been in conversation with Sir Leon, glanced over at her with a curious gaze, as if he were sizing her up to some sort of invisible expectations, while Sir Gwaine’s face morphed from the look of a battle tested warrior, to one of someone who had spotted a known face. He, Sir Leon, and the stranger whom she assumed was their contemporary, smiled at her before Arthur’s voice drew her attention away from those nearest him. 

“Your appearance is timely, it would seem. This young woman has apprehended the man responsible for your poisoning. He has confessed to it, and in doing so, this Ruadan has allowed for those ensnared in seeking the truth surrounding it to rest a bit easier.”

Oriana lapsed into silence, and inspected the scene more carefully, then discovering that she recognized their captive. Seconds later, a brief memory hit her like a lightning bolt, and she was reminded of the night she was poisoned. Ruadan had been there, glaring at her behind Ryia, for seemingly no reason at all.

Relief filled Oriana, as she gazed at the scene before her now.

Knowing that her reaction kept others silent, Oriana held Ryia’s gaze a bit longer, then said, “I cannot thank you enough for what you have done.”

Ryia shrugged.

“Had I ignored his attempt at a swift departure, and allowed him to succeed in fleeing Camelot, then the truth might have left with him.”

“It is with the utmost gratitude that I say your actions shall not go unrewarded,” Arthur stated, which drew the attention from both Oriana and Ryia to himself. 

Oriana noticed Ryia’s expression morph from matter of fact, to one she could not properly discern, as she had not known the woman long enough. She found herself not immediately turning to Arthur, but observing this change in countenance, as he spoke to the woman before her. 

Ryia’s face was drawn, and though her red hair covered parts of her face as she was turned towards the King, the former still held a tightness to her face that had not been present before. It was not exactly angry, nor easily discerned as irritation, but Oriana imagined somehow that it might not be far from that. 

It was only when Ryia spoke again, that Oriana found herself remembering that she could not idly consider others, whilst something was happening. 

“The greatest gift I could receive from you, Arthur Pendragon, is for you and your co-rulers to acknowledge that it is not enough for a High Priestess of the Old Religion to be Court Sorceress of this kingdom. She is but one of many, who cannot not speak for us all. I do not deny that she suffered during your father’s reign, but she was still his ward. We need voices here to speak on behalf of those who did not have the benefit of a warm roof over our head and a full belly, while we were oppressed by that very same man,” Ryia paused for only a moment, then said, “It is time for a council of magic users to be formed within these walls.”

A newfound respect for Ryia blossomed within Oriana as she witnessed the woman stand before one of the most powerful people in all of the Five Kingdoms, and ask not to be rewarded with personal gain, but a construction of something that would aid her, as well as countless magic wielders alike. It was selfless in a way that Oriana’s request to Arthur had not been only a day before, when she had asked about him and her father. Though it was innocuous enough, the timing had been self serving, and unfair to a man who had just escaped death.

How would a King take being addressed as such, though? Was Arthur Pendragon the sort to listen to the council of others? 

Oriana watched, wondering the measure of him, as that moment could tell a great deal however he reacted.

Ryia and Arthur both stared at each other, until he nodded at her. 

“Very well. You have my word that we shall endeavor to make it so.”

Relief flooded within Oriana as she heard the commitment in his tone.

“If that is all, Sire?”

Ryia’s voice trailed off, waiting for a response.

“You may go.”

Ryia dropped into a curtsy, one that must have only been for show, as she did not seem to be very deferential towards the King of Camelot, at all. However, it appeared to Oriana that while she was harsh in her critique, there was no malevolence, only a tenacity that was surely spurred on by her love for those she spoke of; magic users who had endured hardship for much longer than necessary.

It did not take long for Ryia’s short gait to bring her towards where Oriana stood. As she halted in front of the taller woman, her eyes were quickly drawn towards the ribbon wrapped around Oriana’s wrist. 

“I see my favor came in handy after all.”

“So it did.”

Up close, Oriana could see the woman’s freckles, and she hesitated to look for too long, lest she draw invisible constellations between them in her mind, as she awaited her other thoughts to slow long enough so that she might formulate actual sentences aloud that were not the equivalent of multiple horses crashing into each other. For a moment though, her heart thumped in her chest as if hoofbeats were dropping against the inner walls of it, like they would if they were thundering through the countryside.

Horses. Fen. A horseback ride sounded good right about then to her. She could do this, she thought. 

“I have a horse, and his name is Fendrell, but Fen for short.”

Inwardly, she cursed her suddenly awkward, loose tongue. 

Behind her, Oriana heard a snort, but she ignored it in favor of gazing down at where Ryia stood.

Ryia smiled, almost knowing, then replied, “I see. Is he here in Camelot?”

“He is. Now that all of this is over, would you perhaps like to take a ride tonight?”

“Lovely as he may be, I do not ride horses.”

Oriana balked, not expecting that answer, then fumbled with her short response.

“Ah.”

She moved some of the dark tendrils of hair behind her right ear, as she searched for something else to say. However, Ryia indulged her further and said, “I have no qualms about meeting him some day, though. Perhaps, after your next match?”

Oriana felt an awkward grin tug itself onto her face. 

“That would be lovely.”

Ryia smiled, then said, “I should go. I have chores to catch up on, and they will not do themselves.”

“No, they will not.”

Shortly after they bid their final goodbyes, Oriana exhaled heavily, ignoring whoever might still be in front of her, then turned to Brenna, Naro, and Mordred, who had remained near her.

Brenna was the first to let loose her laughter, then after, repeated, “I have a horse.”

Naro cracked a grin, and when Oriana glanced over at Mordred, who smiled alongside the others. 

Though the jabbing was at her expense, Oriana felt lighter.

Brenna’s laughter was infectious, and for a brief time, Oriana found herself swept up in the genuine moment of levity they all shared together, which was sorely needed, after what had occurred before. 

Once the moment had passed, whilst clutching the book still in her left hand, Oriana said, “Well, it seems that it has been sorted at last.”

Given what had just occurred, it took a moment for her to receive a response, until Naro said, “Thank you, for seeing this through.”

Oriana waved her hand in the air towards them, before responding with, “As I said before, I would expect nothing less, if the situations were reversed.”

“Yes, well, to find someone who is good in word and deed can be difficult, at times,” Brenna said. 

Oriana did not know how to respond, so she held up the book she had carried to and fro, then said, “After I return this to the court physician, would any of you fancy a horseback ride, outside of the castle gates? The company of any of you would be most welcome.”

It was true; Oriana had become accustomed to the company of those around her, and she could only hope that they might feel the same way, too.

Brenna smiled, and somehow, Oriana wondered if there was a joke just past it. 

Instead, the former merely said, “As lovely as that would be, I received word this morning that my sister should arrive in Camelot before last light, so I should not venture far.”

Oriana imagined Naro would remain with Brenna, or near to her at least, given that to be the case. 

“Of course. I understand.”

After bidding both of them a good evening, Oriana then turned to Mordred. 

He remained silent for a moment, before he said, “I could use an aimless outing, as well. Count me in.”

Oriana heard her name called out from behind her, before she could respond.

When she turned, King Arthur stood near not only Ruadan and a handful of his knights, but the Queens as well. Was Oriana not known for her inattention to detail at times, removed from her healing of course, where she took great pride in her ability to focus then, she would have been disconcerted with their unnoticed entry by her. However, given that she knew herself to be inattentive, it was hardly a thought at all in her mind. 

“Yes?”

It was Morgana who spoke next. 

“I would ask that you delay your ride for now, as you and I need to talk.”

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope for all the time that has passed, this chapter does not disappoint. On the Author's note of the last chapter, I had updated a few times with explanations as to why the sudden drop off, but I imagine not a lot of people check those, so in summary; I've been ill and had a minor fall down a flight of stairs, which impacted the time it took to finish writing, editing, etc. A special thanks, of course, to my spouse, who Alpha read all 6 rough drafts, which varied greatly in content, before this final iteration. All in all, I'm thrilled to finally be posting this chapter though, and moving on with the story.
> 
> If an update is to be posted, going forward, I will be aiming for Fridays, again. I'll make no promises for the future, but I hope to post chapters in a more timely manner from now on.
> 
> If you've read this far, thank you so much, and have a lovely day!

**Author's Note:**

> I hope that if you read this, that you enjoyed it!
> 
> Either way, have a lovely day!
> 
> I made an aesthetic for Oriana, and I'll link that once I post it on my Tumblr, @rainbowwriterus
> 
> Update: https://rainbowwriterus.tumblr.com/post/629620550848987136


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